


Lay Waste

by Ort



Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Humor, Injury, Mentor/Protégé, POV Alternating, Team Bonding, but instead of sports its monster killing, but not the romance kind like the brotherly kind, family kind, fatherly kind, gratuitous family bonding, this is gonna be a long one folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-17 12:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 86,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20620901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ort/pseuds/Ort
Summary: When the group sets out to investigate the strange occurrences taking place on Mt. Lanayru, they don’t expect to find devastation and disease.  They don’t expect to be caught in a raging storm far beyond any of their imaginations.  They don’t expect to be thrown from the mountainsideAnd they certainly don’t expect to end up worlds apart from each other, unsure of how to return.





	1. Twilight I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We are oft inclined to forget that which others never will; those great sins we have committed to the ones we hold most dear, that, in our own eyes, hold no more weight than that of the smallest riverstone, which we believe to be smoothed by the currents dance. Yet, in actuality, the current has left grooves in the stone's surface, to small for the mortal eye to see, but the stone feels them, nonetheless, and is forever marked by the harsh words of the river. 
> 
> So cherish the moments you hold with those whom you love, and seek not to bring them even the smallest despair, for, in the end, you will cause them pain without meaning to - for that is life - and it is best to make sure that it was pain never meant to exist, rather than that of petty squabbles." 
> 
> \- Ilario, Founder of Ordon Village

****

The rocking of Epona beneath him helps to steady Twilight’s mind, somewhat; he sighs, shoulders slumping, and grips the reins tighter, watching his knuckles grow white. He spares a glance up at the rider leading their group; Wild’s back is rigid as he sits on his horse, urging it along in silence. Sitting behind Twilight in the saddle, Four is quiet, though Twilight can feel his gaze on the back of his head. The entire group is tense; Twilight grits his teeth and tries not to feel like it’s his fault.

Epona snorts, as if feeling his frustration, and he pats her neck. Time shoots him a concerned look from where he rides a few feet in front of him, Hyrule sitting behind him half asleep; Twilight only shakes his head and looks away, watching as the countryside passes by. A group of wild horses grazes on the crest of a hill, the setting sun behind them rendering them only as silhouettes; Twilight almost feels better, but then the road before them slopes upwards and he can see the lanterns of a faraway town begin to illuminate, reminding him of the past few days. Last night sits heavy in his mind. 

Up ahead, Wild spurs his horse on and the group begins to wind its way up the path, past a small wooded valley and then, suddenly, the archway of a small town comes into view. Twilight breathes out a sigh of relief despite his worries; they’ve been riding all day and, despite being the best creature to walk the land in his opinion, he can only ride Epona for so long before it feels like his backside has been permanently fused to the saddle. They enter the town, the few townsfolk that remain outside waving as Wild passes by, and turn right, following Wild up a small pathway, past a set of peculiar houses and over a wooden bridge. Twilight peeks over the bridge as they cross single file, the ravine below echoing the hoofbeats of their steeds, before turning to see their destination; a quaint house sits on the other side of the ravine, its white weathered walls golden in the light of the setting sun. A sign sits outside, a word in the language of Wild’s world carved neatly on its surface. Wild leads them to a small two-horse stable, jumping down from his own horse and leading it into one of the spaces, before turning to the rest of them. 

“We can keep one more here,” he says quietly, gesturing to the empty stall. “There’s more for the others in town.” 

A small murmur goes through the group as they seem to realize that this is the famed house Wild has mentioned a few times. Twilight remains where he is, staring somewhere to the right of Wild’s head, and waits. The silence is finally broken by Time, who nods to Twilight, much to his dismay, and then to the stable. 

“Keep Epona here. We’ll bring the rest to the ones in town.” 

Twilight wants to argue, but he meets Time’s eyes with a steady gaze and dismounts, helping Four down as well. Wild stands off to the side, letting Twilight lead Epona to her lodgings for the night. When Twilight turns around, both Wild and Four have already entered the house and he’s left alone with Epona, standing there in silence as the last of the sun’s rays disappear behind a faraway peak. Twilight sighs and Epona looks at him forlornly, nudging him with her nose; he smiles softly, pressing a small kiss to her head. Wild’s horse, a stallion with a brilliant grey coat, sticks his head out of his stall and snorts. Twilight lifts a hesitant hand, but chuckles when the steed presses his nose against it, nuzzling into Twilight’s palm. 

“Hey, you’re a good boy, ain’t ya,” Twilight murmurs, running a hand across the horse’s cheek. The animal leans into the touch, calm. Behind him, Twilight hears Epona snort and he throws her a look. “Hey, hey. You’re still my girl, eh? But I gotta give some love to this guy, too.” 

Epona huffs, but doesn’t complain any more. Twilight turns back to Wild’s steed, scrubbing his hands across the animal’s cheeks and nose. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches something carved into the wood of the stable; letters, carved with what must have been a crude blade, decorate one of the supporting beams of the stable. Twilight runs a hand over them and glances at Wild’s horse. 

“Is that your name, then?” 

The horse snorts. Twilight nods and sighs. 

“Wish I could read this world’s language,” he mumbles, his shoulders slumping. “A lot has changed since… me…” He leans back and places a hand on the horse’s nose again, searching his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to know what’s buggin’ your master, would ya?” 

The horse does not respond. Twilight nods. 

After a while he leaves, making his way to the house and stepping inside. 

He’s immediately greeted by the heavenly smell wafting from a small kitchen area to the left. Inside, he can see Wild bustling about, knife in hand as he chops vegetables. Four sits by a small fireplace in the main room, coaxing some flames to life. Twilight pauses in the doorway. Neither of them seem to notice him, even as he closes the door behind him with a soft click, and pads quietly over to a table in the center of the main room. A bowl sits in the middle, empty save for some dust, as well as a pile of old opened letters. Like with the sign out front and the carvings on the stable, Twilight can’t make out any of the words or names on them; he picks one up that has fallen to the floor, turning it over and noting the neatness of the hand writing, before placing it back on the table.

Something clangs from the kitchen and both Twilight and Four look up, Four noticing Twilight for the first time and nodding to him. Twilight watches as Wild bends down to pick up a fallen bowl, its contents now spilled on the floor, and grimaces. He makes his way over. 

“Need any help?”

Wild nearly jumps a foot in the air, scrambling back as he finally realizes Twilight’s there. Twilight raises his hands, placating. 

“Hey, hey - it’s just me.” 

Wild nods, eyes wide, and then shakes his head, turning back to his work. 

“Uh, no,” he says quietly, his back to Twilight. Twilight shifts on his feet.

“Are you sure…?”

“Yes,” Wild responds curtly and Twilight swallows, unsure of what to do. He makes to step forward, his hand coming up. 

“Hey... I-”

There’s a knock at the door and Twilight turns just as Time and the others return. They pile into the house, Sky and Hyrule joining Four by the fire, while the rest take time to look around. Wild turns around as well, completely ignoring Twilight and yells “Don’t touch anything hanging up!” before going back to cooking. Twilight stands in the doorway of the kitchen for a little longer, quiet, before stepping back and slipping into the main room. 

Time catches his eye, but Twilight ignores him in favor of sitting down by the fire and trying to pretend that he’s not sulking. Last night runs through his mind on repeat; he searches, going through each minute with great detail, in an attempt to figure out what he’s done wrong.

_ “By the way, Link-” _

_ Wild turns away from the group, standing and walking over to where the stable owner is gesturing for him. They speak quietly for a moment, Wild chuckling at something he says. Twilight only half listens, still preoccupied with the game of cards that they were playing. He eyes Wild’s pile, face down on the little table, and debates stealing a glance while his protege is distracted. Time smacks his hand away when he tries, his own card expertly hidden, and Twilight pouts.  _

_ “Whatever happened to that dog of yours - the one that used to follow you around?” _

_ Twilight perks up at that, looking to where the stable owner is looking at Wild with curiosity; Wild’s never mentioned a pet before, much less a dog. Twilight is about to call out and ask why Wild would keep such a secret considering he knows how much of an animal lover Twilight is, but the words die in his throat. Wild is faced away from him, his face hidden from view, but his shoulders have tensed and Twilight can see the way he’s playing with the edges of his tunic, a habit he’s taken up whenever he’s worried or upset.  _

_ “You know, the big fluffy guy with the grey and white-” _

_ “He’s gone,” Wild says shortly, cutting the stable owner off. The man looks a bit taken aback, but just nods solemnly.  _

_ “Ah, I see,” he says quietly, but Wild has already turned away. He returns, but only to turn over his deck and forfeit the game; it’s a winning set. Twilight looks up, confused, but Wild is avoiding his gaze.  _

_ “Hey, you okay?” Twilight asks, reaching out a hand, but Wild moves his arm away, reaching up to scratch at his arm. _

_ “Yeah,” he says quietly. He throws on a smile, but it’s clearly forced. “Just tired. Sorry.”  _

_ He leaves and Twilight watches him go, unsure of what to do. Time is watching as well, a tinge of worry in his eye, and he raises an eyebrow at Twilight in question, but Twilight has no answer. Wild’s been a bit off since they’d ended up in his Hyrule, quieter, a bit more lost in thought, but this is new. Twilight looks to where Wild is sitting on a nearby bed, scrolling through his slate, frowning.  _

“Dinner’s ready.”

Twilight’s drawn from his thoughts as Wild enters the room; instead of sitting at the small table, bowls of steaming vegetables and meats are passed around with utensils. Wild, for his part, remains close to the kitchen as they all eat their share. Twilight pretends not to notice the way Wild keeps glancing at him whenever he thinks Twilight isn’t paying attention. 

Plans are discussed over the meal; they’ve come to Hateno after receiving information from a stable hand of strange occurrences on the nearby Mt. Lanayru; giant storms and sightings of strange creatures. Wild had mentioned that some of the people in Hateno might have some additional information; they’d visit town tomorrow to see. 

Time nods, helping to collect everyone’s dishes.

“Alright,” he says, handing Wild a stack of bowls. “Let’s get some rest then. We have a busy day tomorrow.” 

The rest of them mumble their agreements, each grabbing their bed rolls and various personal items. 

“There’s some extra blankets upstairs,” Wild mentions as he and Hyrule go to clean the dishes. Before Twilight can volunteer, Wind is already bounding up the stairs. Twilight sighs from where he’s crouched on the floor in front of his travel packs. Beside him, Time nudges his shoulder. 

_ You okay?  _ He mouths and Twilight almost laughs. Hylia, he doesn’t know. He’s convinced he’s done something wrong and upset Wild, but, by the gods, he doesn’t know what. He shrugs, his lips pursed, and digs through his bag to retrieve a night shirt. Time doesn’t push him for more, but Twilight feels a hand on his shoulder as Time stands up and walks away to start making his own bed. 

Twilight’s almost completely set up when Wind calls from upstairs, leaning dangerously far over Wild’s loft railing. 

“Wild, is this you?!” He’s pointing behind him, to something Twilight and the others can’t see. Wild, on the other hand, seems to know exactly what Wind is referring to. Twilight watches in surprise as the color in Wild’s face drains and he stammers. 

“Uh, yeah. Wind don’t- don’t touch that, yeah?”

“But it’s you, right? From before?” Wind exclaims and Twilight feels chills down his back. The others are looking back and forth between Wild and the loft, but Twilight keeps his eyes trained on his protege. Wild doesn’t respond to Wind, just grimaces and goes to the kitchen, where Twilight can hear him begin to clean again. He feels a hand on his shoulder, stopping him when he tries to go and help; Time is staring at him, shaking his head lightly. Twilight feels a spark of anger alight in his chest, but it’s extinguished when Time squeezes his shoulder. 

_ Let it go, _ he mouths and Twilight deflates with a nod. Wind arrives back downstairs with pile of blankets taller than himself, seemingly oblivious to the mood he’s created, and the group begins to settle down for the night. Wild slips upstairs eventually, seeming a bit more relaxed than a few minutes ago, though he still only spares Twilight a wide eyed glance, before disappearing upstairs, effectively avoiding any of the questions the group may have. 

Someone puts out the fire and the room is cast in darkness.

Twilight lays awake long after even Time has fallen asleep; he’s not so sure he can blame it on old habits. His worries over Wild plague him, along with his usual agonies; why are the questing, what are they going to have to fight? What’s going to happen to all of them when this is all over?

Twilight knows what happens to Time. 

And he knows, at least to some extent, what’s going to happen to the rest of them. 

They’re all going to die, at some point, someway or another, and then it will just be Wild. 

He turns over on his bed roll; Sky is sleeping a few feet away, his face squished against his pillow. He’s drooling. 

Twilight heaves a sigh and closes his eyes, trying to sleep; it proves rather difficult. Upstairs, he can hear Wild turn in his bed. He wants to go to him, like he’s done so many times before; curl up beside him as wolf and will away any nightmares and grievances his protege may have. He’d never admit it, but it brings him comfort as well; reminds him of days long passed, laying outside with Colin on summer nights and pointing out the constellations he’s seemed to know since he was born, Uli humming a simple song in the background. Or when he was even younger, and Rusl would carry him on his shoulders through the woods until they found the perfect site; they’d set up camp and Rusl would tell him stories about how he first found him, different every time. 

Twilight swallows and presses his face into his pillow; he’s tried not to think about home for a long time now, guilt sitting in the back of his mind like a bulblin waiting to pounce. He hadn’t said much when he left, just placed a hand on Colin’s head and rode away, telling himself that if he looked back he’d never actually leave. 

“Fuck,” he whispers into his pillow. Somewhere to his left, Legend snores and mumbles something incoherent. Twilight squints his eyes, a lump forming in his throat. He feels like a child, tears welling up behind his eyes over something as stupid as homesickness; missing a place that he’d only ever felt trapped in since returning from his first fated quest. Maybe it’s having not returned since being whisked away to meet the others, or maybe it’s that he never said a proper goodbye or gave a real reason for leaving. 

Maybe it’s that Wild won’t tell him what’s wrong, or that it could be his fault in the first place. 

He turns over onto his back and swallows back whatever emotions are threatening to overspill; he’s been bottling them up for a while, he realizes, whether or not he knew it. Time would be pretty disappointed; he’s already given the Twilight the ‘real adults cry when they need to’ talk, effectively turning the meal they were having at the time into a “father-son/mentor-protege discussion” that Twilight didn’t think he needed or wanted, all things considered. 

Whatever the cause is, Twilight feels drained just thinking about it. He tries to tell himself it’ll be better in the morning, though the sentiment does little to actually comfort him. Instead, he just lays there feeling helpless and confused and lost, until sleep finally takes her toll and grants him a few hours of mercy. 

****

Wild is gone the next morning. Twilight knows this because Legend wouldn’t be upstairs if he weren’t, and Wind wouldn’t be yelling ‘I told you!’ and Twilight wouldn’t be woken up by the pillow that Warriors meant for Wind hitting  _ him _ in the face instead. He sits up groggily, wiping the sleep from his eyes, and blinks as the world finally comes into focus. 

Time is standing at the bottom of the stairs, a look of exasperation mixed with anxiety clear on his face. Sky is standing behind him, wringing his hands in front of himself. 

“Maybe just let it be, yeah? Wild sounded pretty upset about it...” Sky says, wincing as another pillow comes sailing over the guard rail.

“If he didn’t want people to see it, he shouldn’t have had it hanging up,” Legend calls back. 

“It’s in his  _ bedroom _ ,” Hyrule stresses, and Twilight turns to see him and Four clearing away their bedrolls. Hyrule shrugs and shakes his head when Twilight throws him a questioning glance. “They’re looking at Wild’s picture.”

“ _ What! _ ” Twilight leaps to his feet, intent on stopping them, but then Wind appears, disregarding the stairs and leaping from the loft. Sky yelps and rushes into to catch him, throwing himself underneath Wind just in time to stop him from hitting the floor. Wind pouts, mumbling something about how he ‘woulda be fine’ before scrambling out of Sky’s hold. Sky let’s him go rather reluctantly. 

Wind stands in the middle of the room, holding something close to his chest and glaring at Sky, before turning around and laying whatever he’s got onto the nearby table. Legend’s quick to come downstairs as well, followed by Warriors; they gather around the table with Wind. Twilight hesitates, catching Time’s eye. Hyrule, Four, and Sky also seem unsure of what to do, until Four finally inches his way over, squeezing in between Legend and Wind, and leaning over to see what they’re looking at. 

“Oh,” he says quietly, and then Twilight can’t help it anymore. He approaches, Time, Sky and Hyrule close behind, and then they’re all huddled around the table, the picture laying on it’s textured wooden surface; the frame is dusty, as if no one has cleaned it in a long while. Twilight wonders idly if Wild had time to ask someone to come by and watch over his house before he left. He wonders if there’s anyone to ask.

Such thoughts are pushed to the back of his mind when he sees the picture. He does not recognise anyone in it, save for two; Zelda, who he’s seen in some of the few photos that Wild has allowed him to see, and Wild, who stands next to her, a look of surprise painting his features as he’s pulled unexpectedly into a group embrace. A zora, a rito, a gerudo all don similar expressions; the goron behind all of them seems to be the only one smiling as he pulls them all together. 

Twilight stares, along with the other, in silence, and knows what they are thinking. 

He has never known Wild without scars. 

He looks younger without them. Happier. It’s sad. 

His face is not marred by violence and tragedy; instead he retains a kind of youthful beauty, the face of someone whose life has not been ripped out from under them too early. 

He understands why Wild does not want others to see this. 

“Is that Zelda, you think?” Wind asks suddenly and Twilight is pulled from his thoughts with the realization that he’d been lost in them. The others are talking animatedly over the picture, only Time standing a ways back, a contemplative look on his face. 

“Can’t believe his hair was ever that short.” Legend says and Warriors nods.

“He looks like a soldier.” 

Twilight backs away. He’s leaving through the door before Time has a chance to stop him and before the others even notice. 

Wild’s horse is gone, hoof prints leading away from the house to the bridge. Twilight doesn’t even bother readying Epona; he simply crosses the bridge on foot and runs out of the town, getting about halfway down the trail before he changes form mid sprint, the world becoming sharper with all its scents and sounds. He bounds down the dirt road, following the scent of his protege, clear as day amongst that of the surrounding nature. Wild’s path leads him past a small forest, and a deep crater of sorts. He crosses a river and stays beside the path, wary of passing riders, until he comes to a stretch of plains where Wild’s scent seems to collect. 

He pauses at the boundary of tall grass before him; hesitates. He remembers last night, and the night before that. 

Above the tops of the grass, he can see Wild, standing silent in the middle of the field, his back facing Twilight; his bow is in hand, but he has not drawn an arrow from his quiver. Twilight can smell no kills. 

When he finally does approach, it is with caution. He goes slowly, weaving his way through the stalks that tickle his nose and ears, and then he stops a few feet away and waits. Wild does not seem to notice him; it’s concerning, considering who Wild is. But Twilight can see the way his one hand grips the edge of his tunic, the other holding tighter and tighter to his bow, and the way Wild has his head bowed low. 

Twilight steals himself, and ventures with a small ‘boof.’

Wild turns so fast Twilight feels dizzy, his bow coming up and an arrow notched before Twilight blink; time slows and Twilight sees the stretch of Wild’s scars as his eyes widen. He jumps back and transforms, hands coming up.

“Hey, hey, it’s me, it’s me,” he’s saying, even before the black particles are fully dispersed. He’s breathing heavy. “It’s jus’ me.” 

He wants to laugh, his nerves shooting off like bomb arrows, but it dies in his throat as Wild continues to stare at him with wide eyes, horrified. His protege remains still, and thus, so does Twilight, hands still held in front of him, his eyes darting between his protege and the arrowhead that’s pointed at his stomach. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Wild lowers his bow. He’s still staring at Twilight, face pale, and Twilight lowers his hands, staring at Wild; anxiety is building in his chest like a flood, threatening to break whatever levee is holding it back.

Wild turns away from him suddenly, shoulders tense. 

“Sorry,” he chokes out after a moment, and Twilight almost jumps at his voice. “Uh, you can go.” 

“Wild-”

“Just-” Wild barks and then pauses to take a breath. It’s level and smooth and he lifts his head afterwards, still facing away from Twilight. “Just go, yeah? I’m fine.” 

Twilight doesn’t go. He stands and can almost feel the lifetimes between the two of them. He debates telling Wild about the picture. He debates asking him to come home. 

“I’m sorry,” he says instead. Wild tenses and then turns, slowly, to look at him. 

“ _ What? _ ” Confusion sits plainly on his face. Twilight looks to the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and his voice feels thick. “For whatever I did. I don’t… I don’t know what, but I promise I didn’t mean to upset you or, or anythin’ like that.” 

He feels strange; vulnerable. Wild is still staring at him and, when Twilight spares a glance, a look of pain seems to be seeping onto his face. Wild shakes his head, his mouth open as if he’s trying to find words. 

“You… you didn’t…” He turns slowly and stands with his arms hanging limp at his sides. “You didn’t do anything… it’s me… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I just can’t…” He trails off, looking guilty as he turns his gaze downward. Twilight feels a sickly relief settle in his chest and he steps forward, lifting a hand to push the bangs away from Wild’s face. Wild closes his eyes, but doesn’t flinch, and Twilight takes it as a sign; he pulls Wild forward gently, wrapping his arms around his protege and holding him there. It takes a moment, but, after a while, Wild hugs him back, burying his face into Twilight’s shirt, and Twilight sighs in relief. 

“You’re still in your nightshirt,” Wild notes, voice muffled, and Twilight huffs out a laugh. 

“Yeah, well…” he trails off without much of an answer. Wild doesn’t seem to need one; he pulls away after a moment, still looking down. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles and Twilight squeezes his shoulder. “It’s not… you didn’t do anything, I promise, I just…” 

“Can’t tell me,” Twilight finishes and Wild nods solemnly. 

“Not yet.” 

“Does that mean you will someday?” 

Wild breathes out a laugh at that, but doesn’t answer. Twilight figures that’s all he’s going to get for now. He sighs and wraps an arm around Wild’s shoulder, pulling him close again. His protege closes his eyes, leaning into Twilight’s side, and Twilight wonders if Wild missed him as much as he missed Wild. 

“C’mon,” he says after a moment. Wild looks out at the field. 

“I was going to hunt… make something for breakfast, but I got...” he sighs. “Distracted.” 

Twilight quirks an eyebrow. 

“We still have time,” he says, then smirks. “I could turn into a wolf and scare some birds for ya.” 

His smile fades when Wild winces at the suggestion, but then Wild forces a smile and shakes his head. 

“Nah,” he murmurs, then glances at Twilight, his voice growing a bit stronger. “You’ll just scare them away with your bark.” 

Twilight stares at him, searching Wild’s eyes for any answers, but they reveal nothing. So, instead, he turns and cracks a smile, though even he knows it’s probably not that convincing. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly, relenting. “Alright.”  ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This story comes with serious world building, because, as much as I adore The Legend of Zelda, there are some places that could use just a bit more, especially when it comes to writing stories about it.


	2. Twilight II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was stood upon a great stone, when I first saw it; resplendent in the setting sun, I watched it carve a path through the clouds, the great white masses parting before it like worshippers before a king. I was rendered incapable of much more than falling to my knees, astounded in the face of its beauty, until it disappeared beyond the limits of my sight, a burning star on the horizon. When my companions found me, hours later, still sat upon that great stone, trying desperately to commit its visage to memory, they were distraught, believing I had come under the possession of some horrid spell. I reassured them that the only spell was that of wonder at my discovery. Yet, to my deep disappointment, when I tried to relay my experience, they only laughed and accused me of delusions due to a lack of sleep. 
> 
> I was never able to convince them of what I saw, but to this day I hold that moment in time as near to my heart as I dare.  
I hope to the goddess that I may one day see such a sigh again."
> 
> \- Erla, The Traveler

“Alright,” Time says, and motions for Wild to place his slate down on the table. Its screen glows with a map of Wild’s Hyrule, the various icons blinking lazily. Wild taps the screen, zooming in on a small portion labeled something Twilight doubts any of the others can read. 

“Mt. Lanayru,” Wild explains. He’s better now, marginally. He’s talking more to Twilight, though whatever he’s not telling him still sits somewhere beneath the surface. He doesn’t flinch anymore, though, allowing Twilight to nudge him playfully and put his arm around his shoulder like he used to. It’s not quite like before, but Twilight’s willing to take whatever he can get. 

_ “It’s good,” Time had said to him privately when he and Wild had returned. Twilight had looked at him, confused, until Time had nodded to where Wild was joking around with Legend. “Whatever it is you said, it worked.” He’d explained. “You’re a good older brother.”  _

_ Twilight had spluttered, choking out something like  _ ‘we’re not- no no, I’m just, just a mentor, Time. I’m just his mentor - I’m not gonna just assume that-’ _ and had gone on until Time had simply placed a hand on his shoulder and gave a rare toothy grin. _

“That’s the Spring of Wisdom,” Wild says, drawing Twilight back from his thoughts, and places a small glowing symbol to mark on what appears to be a pool of water on the mountain. “I have a feeling that whatever we’re dealing with is going to be situated around there.” 

“What’s the journey up like?” Warriors asks. Beside him, Hyrule has a pad of paper out, writing down the supplies they’ll need for the trip. Wild tilts his head back and forth, thinking. 

“Hard,” he says with a shrug, and Twilight ignores the way Sky groans under his breath behind him. “There’ll be some climbing involved, and the area’s known to be icy. That along with monsters and the storm…” Wild trails off and looks back at Time. “It’ll be a hard day.” 

Time nods, his eye closed. Wild crosses his arms, looking lost in thought as he stares at the map, before glancing up at Twilight. 

“We won’t be able to bring the horses, at least not up the mountain.” 

Twilight sighs. He figured as much. 

“Will they be okay stayin’ here?” 

Wild nods, moving the map and pointing at a small cluster of buildings. 

“There’s a ranch right here; I know the owners. They’ll be happy to take the horses while we’re gone. They can bring them to a stable as well, if we need them to.” He pauses and looks at Twilight, quirking his eyebrow; Twilight realizes he’s been grimacing and tries to relax his face. Wild nudges his shoulder. “They’ll take good care of Epona, I promise. Koyin even sings to her animals at night, so Epona will feel right at home.” 

Twilight rolls his eyes, but the sense of relief he feels is welcomed. Hyrule looks up from writing. 

“Ok, so what else do you think we’ll need?” He taps his paper. “I have the usual provisions; dried meat, cheese, bread, water, etc… I’m guessing we’ll need some warmer clothes as well?” 

Wild nods. 

“I can travel to Rito Village and pick up a few more Snowquill sets.” He eyes the group up and down and picks up his slate, making a note in his inventory. “I’ll need some different sizes, I guess.” 

Twilight taps his protege’s shoulder. 

“I’ll be fine without one. ‘Got enough pelts and warm clothes to be sufficient.” 

Wild nods, but still purses his lips, tapping on his slate. 

“I’ll grab you a headset, just incase.” He mumbles and Twilight doesn’t argue. With the plan set, the rest of them throwing in rupees to pay for the extra clothing. Wild looks around the group. “Anyone want to join me?” 

Twilight backs away, shaking his head. 

“I think I’ll get sick if I ever have to use that teleportin’ thing again.” 

Wild laughs a little and turns to Sky. 

“You want to come? I think you’d like Rito Village a lot.” 

Sky looks hesitant, but nods after a while and moves to stand next to Wild, linking their arms at the elbows. 

“Yeah, okay, let’s go-”

Wild taps his slate and they’re gone before Sky can finish his sentence. Twilight grimaces as they disintegrate, the feeling of his own experiences with teleportation coming to mind. To be honest, Wild’s way of doing it is slightly more pleasant than… Midna’s… but he hates it either way. 

When they’re gone, Time turns to the remaining group, taking the list from Hyrule. 

“Let’s get going then,” he says, assigning each of them a list of things to buy in town. “Aside from provisions, see how much information you can gather about the mountain and whatever’s been going on up there.” 

* * *

Town is busy, the late morning sun enticing children to play and townsfolk to linger in the marketplace. Twilight walks with Four beside him, list in hand. He tries to keep his strides shorter, feeling a bit guilty when he notices the way Four keeps trotting forward in an attempt to keep up with him. They’re on food duty, making their first stop a small building with a pot on its sign. 

“Good thing they have pictures,” Four mutters under his breath and Twilight hums in agreement. Inside they find Warriors and Hyrule, already scanning over bundles of arrows. Hyrule looks up briefly, sending Twilight and Four a quick smile, before going back to listening to Warriors comment on each of the arrows. 

Twilight wanders around the small store, nodding at the owner. Each of the foods are labeled, but he can’t understand them; he wonders idly how that works. How he can understand everyone he’s met so far no matter the Hyrule, albeit with some difficulty depending on the accent, but some of the written languages elude him. Sky’s and Wild’s in particular; he figures it’s the time periods.

Next to him, Four hefts a bottle of milk in his hand. 

“Think this will keep?”

Twilight shrugs. 

“We’ll have to drink it pretty fast... though, maybe the cold’ll keep it fresh?”

Four scowls and puts the bottle back. 

“Not gonna risk it.”

They buy a few mushrooms and apples, as well as a few bundles of rice, Four saying that Wild could probably find a way to use them. They pay just as Hyrule and Warriors finish their own shopping; Twilight notes with amusement that they’ve cleared out the store’s arrow stock. The owner looks both excited and nervous as he marks his books. The four of them leave together, chatting amongst themselves, when Twilight spots at old woman by a set of cooking pots, struggling to lift a barrel. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says to others, handing Warriors his bag. His companion grumbles, but takes it and Twilight makes his way over to the woman. 

“Here,” he says as he approaches and helps her lift the barrel onto a nearby shelf. She smiles and pats his arm lightly. 

“Ah, thank you young man.” She puts her hands on hips and purses her lips. “Suits me right, thinking I can lift such a thing all by myself.” She grins and shakes her head. “Not as young as I used to be!”

“Naw, you look plenty young to me.” 

The woman coos, her hands clasped in front of her. 

“Oh my, not from around here, are you dear?” She tuts, wagging a finger at him. “If that accent is anything to go by, anyway.” 

Twilight blushes, lifting a hand to scratch behind his head.

“Ah, no. Can’t say I am.” He pauses, glancing up at the distant cliffs. “Say… you wouldn’t happen to know anythin’ about what’s been goin’ on on Mt. Lanayru, would you? I hear there’s been some nasty storms.”

The old woman raises an eyebrow then sighs, shrugging. 

“Storms, monster sightings, avalanches.” She shakes her head. “Here I was thinking it would all be over once the Calamity was defeated, but it seems the goddesses don’t like to leave Hyrule alone for long.” 

Twilight suppresses the urge to laugh, instead just nodding along as the woman continues. 

“I’d stay away if I were you,” she says, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “That mountain is no place to be in the best of times. Now… it’s a death sentence, if I ever saw one.” 

Twilight feels a chill run down his spine, but he simply thanks the woman for her help and leaves, meeting up with the others where they’re listening to a young boy talk animatedly to them. 

“- and then he brought me a big sword and it was all glowing and blue! But he wouldn’t let me keep it!” The boy pouts, crossing his arms. “What a jerk!”

“Yeah, a  _ big _ jerk,” Warriors laughs. Twilight tilts his head, but Warriors just winks and turns back to the kid. “So what else did Link do?”

Oh. Wild. 

The boy thinks for a moment, his lower lip jutting out in thought, before he smiles and throws his hands up in the air. 

“He saved Hyrule,” he yells and laughs. “There was a big monster at the castle and Link went there all alone and then the sky got really dark,” he pauses. “Mama made me stay inside, but I got to watch out the window and I saw everything.” He laughs. Twilight leans in, waiting for more, but suddenly there’s a yell and the boy turns. A woman stands in the doorway of a nearby house, beckoning to him.

“Nebb,” She calls, hands on her hips. “You have your studies to get to - stop bothering those boys and get in here!” 

“Mama-”

“I have fresh cheese and apples.”

The boy, Nebb, gasps and is off without saying goodbye, only pausing once he reaches the doorway to wave at them, before he’s ushered inside. Twilight watches him go with amusement. Warriors laughs again. 

“Kids,” he says and then hands Twilight his groceries, before starting to walk back to Wild’s house. Twilight and the others follow suit. As they walk, something catches Twilight’s attention out of the corner of his eye; a shrine, similar to the ones Wild has showed them before, sits high on a cliff behind the town, hidden so that Twilight might have never seen it if not for the burst of blue that signalled one of Wild’s teleportations. He watches as the light dissipates, revealing two figures, the taller of the two talking excitedly to the other. Sky is waving his arms, a smile plastered on his face as he speaks, the bags in his hands swinging wildly. Wild stands beside him, a couple of his own bags held gingerly in his arms, listening. 

“Oh, they’re back,” Four says, coming up beside him. “Guess we’re going soon.” 

“Yeah,” Twilight agrees and thinks of the old woman’s words. Something foreboding forms in the pit of his stomach, but he pushes it down. “Let’s go.” 

* * *

“This is huge!” 

“Well, it’s the smallest they had.”

Four makes an enraged noise and waves his arms, the oversized sleeves of his Snowquill tunic flopping about uselessly. 

“Are you telling me they don’t have kids in Rito Village?!” 

“They’re all birds - they don’t need the tunics. And the only Hylians that visit are usually older,” Wild says, trying to hide his laughter behind his hand. 

Twilight has forgone such niceties and is openly chuckling, leaning on Wild’s shoulder. Behind him, Legend is on the floor, practically sobbing as Wind continues to take more pictures on his Picto box. Four rounds on them, his face bright red. 

“Stop it!” 

Legend laughs harder. 

Behind Four, packing up their supplies, Time rolls his eye and stands, shaking his head. 

“Alright, alright,” he says, but Twilight catches the way the corners of his lips turn upwards. “We don’t have much time and we really should try to reach the mountain before nightfall.”

“We can take the horses and leave them at the ranch up there,” Wild says, composing himself. “It’s on the way.” 

Time nods. 

“Then let’s go - everyone dressed and ready?”

The rest of them giving varying degrees of agreements, Four still grumbling as he rolls the sleeves of his tunic up, still looking rather lumpy. 

Twilight plays with the feathers braided into his hair, courtesy of Wild, and makes a mental list of everything he has; sword? Check. Shield? Check. Bow? Check. He goes to his bag and counts his arrows, newly stocked thanks to Warriors and Hyrule. Most of the arrows went to Wild, a unanimous decision, but they all agreed that each of them should have a few, just in case. Provisions are spread evenly between everyone; without the horses to carry anything, their supplies will have to be light. Wild can only carry so much in his slate, so whatever they don’t need gets left behind at the house. 

“Only that which is essential,” Legend had said cryptically when they began packing, laughing when Warriors scowled and took out another two daggers from his pack, throwing them to the side. 

When they’re finally ready, bags packed and the house locked up with the rest of their supplies tucked safely inside, Wild, Twilight and Four ready Epona and Wild’s steed while the others go to retrieve their steeds. 

“We’ll meet you in town,” Sky calls over his shoulder as they cross the bridge. 

Twilight takes Epona out slowly, marveling at her coat in the daylight. He doesn’t bother with her saddle; he won’t be riding her for long. Wild does the same, much to Four’s chagrin. He helps the smallest of them up, laughing when Four complains about how uncomfortable his horse is; Wild’s horse looks rather offended. Twilight laughs as well, pushing himself up onto Epona with a huff. 

“By the way,” he says as Wild gets settled on his steed. “What’s his name?” 

Wild looks down at his horse and smiles, reaching down to brush a hand through the black mane. 

“Fáelán,” he says with a small laugh.

“Good name.” 

“I know.” 

Four huffs. 

“Can we please go before my ass molds to the shape of  _ Fáelán’s  _ back?” 

Twilight barks out a laugh and follows Wild as he pushes Fáelán forward; they cross the bridge, Twilight peering over once more, smiling as a flock of cranes fly through underneath. The others meet them near the town stables, already mounted and ready to go. 

They follow Wild up the path, their chatter cheerful, if wary of the whatever dangers lie before them. Wild points ahead as the low roof of a building comes into view, identifying the ranch they’re headed to. 

He waves as he approaches and Twilight sees a young woman tending to a herd of sheep. Two dogs greet them as they reach the property, running alongside their horse. Twilight doesn’t miss the way Wild tenses, but he seems to relax soon after, jumping down to greet the woman, Koyin, and speak with her about the horses. It seems he’s warned the ranch ahead of time; she leads them to a set of empty stables, fresh bedding scattered over the floor. Twilight hums his approval when Wild sends him a questioning glance, dismounting from Epona and letting Koyin lead him to a stable. 

He lingers in saying goodbye, pressing his forehead to Epona’s and running his hands over her cheeks.    
  


“Be good, yeah,” he murmurs quietly and Epona whinnies softly. “That’s my good girl.” 

He tries to ignore chill creeping up his spine. Footsteps approach and he turns to see Koyin standing behind him, a small smile on her lips. 

“I’ll take good care of her,” Koyin says with a nod. “She’ll be here waiting for you when you get back.” 

Twilight nods and thanks her profusely, bidding one more farewell to Epona, before going to join the others. 

“Ready?” Wild asks the group and begins to lead them up the rest of the path. It winds upwards, towards a peculiar looking building that Wild just rolls his eyes at when Wind questions him about it. “A lab,” he states, a fond annoyance evident in his voice, but doesn’t elaborate. He points beyond the cliff where they stand, to the snowy peaks in the distance. Dark clouds gather over the mountain, the sky many shades darker than the one they stand under now; a storm rages down the mountainside. Twilight notes with concern how it seems to be moving closer, spreading out towards the rest of Wild’s Hyrule. Lightning illuminates portions of the mountain, while others are hidden by a white haze; a snowstorm so thick it looks like fog from a distance. Wind lets out a low whistle and Sky puts an arm around his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Legend says and crosses his arms. “Seems about right for something we’d have to deal with.” 

The others chuckle a bit. Wild leans over the cliff, pointing down. 

“We’ll have to climb down - it’s not too far - and then just beyond those trees is the beginning of the mountain. There’s a trail, but it’ll be covered in ice with the storm.” He hefts his paraglider. “Meet you down there, I guess?” 

“Yeah,  _ or _ we could race,” Legend says, excitement at the edge of his voice, but a stern look from Time silences him. Time pulls out his hook shot instead, walking to the edge. He tests the rock, before hooking his anchor to the cliff side. He turns to the rest of them, and Twilight watches wide eyed as his frown changes to a grin. 

“Last one down has cucco duty next time we’re at my ranch,” he says and leaps backwards off the cliff. 

“Son of bitch!” Legend cries, but Twilight’s already leaping as well, twisting mid air to shoot his claw shot and swing down. Wild falls past him, laughing, and Twilight watches as he unravels his paraglider at the last moment, landing gently on the ground next to Time, who’s laughing at the rest of them. 

In the end, Warriors laments for the rest of the walk to the mountain’s base, accusing all of them of cheating. He’s quieted by the time they reach the base, Twilight having threatened to throw him off the mountain if he continues, and the group stands in relative silence as they look up. The storm rages overhead and, even without being on the mountain, Twilight can feel the harsh chill of ice and wind. He steels himself, squaring his shoulders.

“Well,” he says, breaking the silence. “Shall we?” 

* * *

The climb is hard. 

Wild had said as much, but as they fight their way through thick snow and biting winds, Twilight’s beginning to think they might be unprepared for this. They’re all shivering, even with their enhanced clothing, and Twilight’s slipped more times that he can count, his shoes unfit for icy trail they’re following. He wishes, for a moment, that he could just turn into a wolf.

Wild leads the way, constantly turning back to check on the group. Twilight catches his eye as he pauses again. The winds pick up for a moment. 

“Go, Cub!” Twilight calls from where he is, a few feet behind Wild. “Just keep going!” 

Wild nods and the group surges forward. Twilight curses as his foot slips again, eyes trained on Wild’s form in front of him, barely visible through the storm. He feels someone come up next to him; Time walks hunched over, his own braided hair flapping wildly in the wind. 

“You good?” He yells over the wind. Twilight nods, before he realizes that Time probably can’t see him well enough. 

“Yeah,” he calls back and they keep moving. 

They eventually stop on a rocky outcrop, huddled together as they try to make a plan and catch their breath. Wild fiddles with his slate, the map on the screen flashing violently between an actual image and static. Twilight squints and looks out into the storm; he can see nothing but a blur of snow. 

“Damn it,” Wild mutters. Legend leans over. 

“Anything?” he asks, curling in on himself. Wild shakes his head. A harsh wind sweeps through their small shelter and Twilight makes a note to thank Wild later for getting him the Snowquill headset afterall. Whatever enchantment lies over it is doing wonders in keeping his ears warm; some magic, he figures, is pretty nice. Nevertheless, he pulls the hood of his pelt up over his head. Next to him, Time chuckles. 

“Now you really look like a little pup,” his mentor says and Twilight ducks his head. 

“Shut up,” he mumbles, crossing his arms and bringing his knees to his chest. Time laughs and Twilight feels as arm around his shoulder pull him close. He leans into the touch, reveling in the small break they have before they must continue on their trek. 

“I think,” Wild says suddenly and then pauses, staring at his screen, before looking up. “I think we’re almost at the spring. Just a little further.” 

“Let’s go then,” Time says and pats Twilight’s shoulder. 

Entering the storm again means that Four almost gets blown off the mountain side and Sky missteps and receives a jagged cut down his calf from a slab of ice. 

“I’m fine,” he gasps, shaking his head when Hyrule offers him a potion, but finally takes it when the others insist. He hands it back only half empty and glares at anyone who tries to argue. 

The path levels out eventually and they’re able to walk, moving slowly up and across the mountainside. Wild digs through his slate and produces a spear of flames, which he holds high above his head like a beacon, the soft glow of its blade the only thing Twilight can make out in the storm at times. They’re silent, the only noise the howling winds around them, when something else breaks through. 

Twilight almost doesn’t hear it; a different kind of howling, rising above the storm; a chorus of voices, carried by raging winds. Wild comes an abrupt stop, whipping around. He meets Twilight’s gaze, his mouth parted and his eyes wide. Twilight draws his sword and the other follow suit behind him. 

The howls come again and the group tenses. 

“Wolfos?” Time yells, but Twilight can see Wild shake his head, still looking rather lost. The group shuffles, listening at the howling rises and falls; they seem to be going away, fading back into the storm from which they came. 

“Just regular wolves, right?” Twilight asks and looks to Wild for confirmation. “Wild?”

Wild is pale, staring out into the storm with a blank expression. Twilight moves forward and places his hand on Wild’s shoulder; his protege flinches and Twilight pulls back as if burned. 

“...Cub?” 

Wild blinks then shakes his head, like a dog ridding himself of water, and looks up at Twilight. 

“Uh, sorry. I’m good. Just a little-” he waves his hand through the air. “You know.”

Twilight isn’t convinced, but he lets it go, allowing Wild to keep walking. 

With the storm and snow, it takes another hour till they finally reach the Spring. 

“It’s just over this cliff,” Wild calls, pointing. Great spires of ice mark their path and Twilight uses them as a post to lean on and catch his breath. The rest of the group seems to have the same idea, each taking a moment to rest. Behind Twilight, Time lets out a long sigh, looking up at the clouds. 

“What do you think’s causin’ it?” Twilight mutters to his mentor. Time huffs. 

“Guess we’ll find out.” 

“Strange we haven’t met any monsters, huh.” 

He expects Time to say something like ‘don’t push our luck, pup,’ but he only closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. 

“Yeah,” he says, quiet. “Strange.” 

It’s as he finishes speaking and Twilight prepares himself for whatever awaits them at the Spring that the entire mountain shakes with an explosive roar. Twilight drops to the ground, the path way shaking beneath him. Sheets of ice come sloughing off the cliffside and Twilight catches Wild out of the corning of his eye, pressed against the rock. 

“Wind!” Sky screams from the back of the group and Twilight looks up in time to see Wind lose his balance, panic bright in his eyes as he tips over the side of the cliff. Twilight’s running before he can think, whipping out his clawshot and aiming it at their youngest member. Wind cries out as the claw grabs him, and Twilight pulls, the weight of the other hero and ice beneath his feet sending him sliding down the path. 

“Twi!” He hears Wild cry out. The others grab at him, trying to him onto the path as he passes by. Warriors finally wraps an arm around his waist and hauls him back before he can go over. 

“Keep me steady,” Twilight yells to Warriors and begins to reel Wind back up the mountain. Wind is gripping the clawshot for dear life, his face white. When he’s close enough, Twilight kneels down, Warriors still keeping him stable, and reaches down. He grabs Wind’s collar and heaves him up, pulling him into a firm embrace. Wind is shaking and lets out a nervous laugh as he shuffles away from the edge. 

“Fuck,” he says, somewhat hysterical. Twilight steps back, helping him remove the clawshot from his shirt, apologising when he sees where it has grazed the skin, but Wind only shakes his head and thanks him, before moving back in line with the others; Sky grips his shoulder, pulling him close, and Wind nods, saying something Twilight can’t hear over the wind. 

“What the hell was that?!” Legend yells and the mountain rumbles in response, sending all of them scrambling to press themselves against the wall. Up at the front of the line, Wild and Time look back at everyone. Twilight waves to them, though he’s not sure they can see. 

“Go,” he calls and the others repeat it so that Wild can hear. Twilight can see him hesitate, but then the mountain shakes again, an ear splitting roar sending splinters through the spires of ice around them. Twilight covers his ears, squeezing his eyes shut until the noise subsides. “Go, go, go,” he cries and the group starts to run, slipping and scrambling their way up the path. Twilight brings up the rear, glancing out at the storm as lightning lances across the sky. 

They crest the hill as the mountain shudders again and Twilight almost loses his grip as he pulls himself up over the cliff. He staggers to his feet to find the rest of the group already looking at the Spring before him. 

“What the fuck,” Four mumbles and Twilight feels his stomach drop. 

A dragon sits, draped over the spires of ice that surround the Spring of Wisdom, the statue at its center split in half. The head of Hylia lies half submerged in the holy water of the Spring, her face turned up towards the storm. Sky makes a choked noise, but it’s cut off when the dragon convulses, releasing a screech that sends Twilight to his knees. Black fog pours from its mouth and eyes and it lurches, writhing and clawing at the air and ice around it. Its tail whips wildly, smashing into the mountain side and sending the group reeling; Twilight feels the ground slip from under him and he falls back, rolling to the edge of the cliff. His leg goes over and he panics, scrambling in the snow until he finds something to hold onto. 

“Naydra!” 

Twilight whips his head up; Wild is standing in the Spring, his arms at his side with his palms up. 

“Naydra,” he cries out. “Naydra, it’s  _ me _ !” 

The dragon roars, thrashing, its body twisting and jerking unnaturally as more and more of the fog flows from its body; Twilight almost gags as he sees it pouring from the creature’s eyes and ears, seeping out from between the blue scales that cover the length of its form. It pools on the ground like water, too heavy to be anything natural, and Twilight watches, horrified, as the snow begins to melt where it touches the foul stuff, black vapor rising into the air. Wild takes a step back. 

“Naydra, please!” He tries again, still backing away. “It’s me, it’s - it’s  _ Link _ !” 

The dragon screams and Wild scrambles back as it lashes out with a clawed hand, grabbing at the empty space where Twilight’s protege once stood. 

“Wild, get back now!” Time shouts, holding onto a pillar and crouching as the mountain shakes again. The winds around them begin to pick up, the snow on the ground mixing with that in the air, and the dragon and Spring disappear in the haze. Twilight can hear the calls of his friends mixing with the wind; he stands, uncertain, the knowledge that the edge of the cliff lies only a foot or so behind him heavy in his mind. 

He thinks he hears someone call his name and then lightning illuminates the world. 

Twilight looks up to see the dragon above him. 

Twilight is frozen, his legs refusing to move; he stares upwards as the dragon opens its mouth and inky foulness drips from its maw. It convulses and Twilight can see its clawed hand coming up, poised above him as lightning arches across the sky again. 

He doesn’t move, even when he realizes that the hand is coming closer, coming down. 

“No!” 

Time’s voice is the last thing he hears before the ground in front of him explodes and he’s thrown back through the air. He falls for half a second, his stomach leaping to his throat, and then he hits the side of the cliff, pain lancing through his body as he tumbles down the slope, coming to an agonizing stop on a small shelf. He lays there dazed, until he sees red begin to stain the snow beneath him. He pushes himself to his elbows, ignoring the way his body screams. He can taste blood in his mouth; it pushes past his lips, dribbling down his chin and onto the snow. 

“Twi!” 

He looks up and sees Wild and the others standing above him, a great fissure between them, and Twilight realizes what has happened. The mountain side is split, a jagged gash separating him from the rest of the group. He tries to sit up further, but his body refuses and instead he flops forward with a shudder. He can see Wild, staring at him with wide eyes, inching closer to the edge. 

“No… don’t,” Twilight tries to say, but it comes out weak. Time makes a grab for Wild, but Wild leaps forward, landing beside Twilight just as the mountain shakes again. He throws himself over Twilight, the shimmering red of Daruk’s Protection coming up around them as ice and rocks come toppling down. Twilight can hear Time calling his name, muffled by the shield around him and Wild. Cracks form in its surface as more and more rocks crash against it and then, with a burst of light, the shield shatters and the only thing left protecting him is Wild. Twilight scrambles, trying to push Wild away, or flip them around, but his arms are weak and he’s left groaning as the energy leaves him. Wild grunts, but otherwise remains where he is, gripping Twilight’s tunic until the onslaught eventually subsides. Wild moves, sitting up slowly, and Twilight turns just enough to note the blood in his hair. 

“Cub,” he mumbles and then the world shatters again. 

Somewhere, above them, the dragon screeches and a shadow passes over as it crashes into the mountain, scrambling against the stone. 

There’s a cry and Twilight sees Legend struggling in the dragon’s grasp as it pulls back, screaming as ice begins to creep over his body. Hyrule yells, leaping from the edge and grabbing onto the dragon’s claw, hacking away at it with his sword. The others scramble to help; there’s a flash, lightning illuminating metal, and Twilight sees Time aim his hookshot onto Hyrule’s tunic. It latches on and Time pulls, his jaw clenched as he struggles against the strength of the dragon. 

The dragon jerks, rearing back, and Twilight stares, horrified, as his mentor is pulled forward off the ledge and left dangling in the air. 

Wild staggers to his feet. 

“Time!” 

Time kicks in the air, reaching for Hyrule, and, then, everything slows as the dragon shudders. It lurches back, contorting its body, and then it opens its hand, releasing Legend, Hyrule, and Time into the open air. 

They make no noise, suspended for a half a second in space, and then all three disappear into the raging storm. 

A great cry rises among the remaining heroes. Twilight stares at the spot where the three disappeared, a scream building in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t have much time to process it because, suddenly, Wild is beside him again, trying to lift him to his feet. Twilight grabs Wild’s arm, attempting to hoist himself up, his feet scrambling in the blood and snow. His vision is blurry, but he can see the rest of the group struggling to hold on as the dragon continues its rampage, smashing itself against the cliff face. There’s more screams and Twilight lets out a choked cry as he watches as his friends are thrown from the mountain side, vanishing into the rising winds. 

“Twi!” Wild’s voice cuts through the panic and then the dragon’s tail crashes into their ledge; Twilight feels the ground beneath him crack, pieces of it peeling away. He grabs Wild, using whatever strength he has left to pull him to his chest, and shuts his eyes. 

_ Please, _ he prays. 

Then the stone beneath them crumbles and they’re falling.


	3. Sky I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I, and I admit this openly and without shame, sing when I am afraid. It does wonders to fill the silence of a dark room, or cut through the choir of a thunderstorm. I have always sung when afraid, since I was but a little thing, so it often astounds people to know that I do not sing otherwise. Sure, I have heard that it brings others joy to join their voices to music and move their bodies with the intention of fun and freedom, but I have only ever sung to stop the onslaught of fear and so I cannot sing simply for the enjoyment of it; I do not enjoy it, at least not anymore, for song has become a beacon of fear - it cannot exist without it.
> 
> I do not go to celebrations often, or join in the choirs during grand festivals; I have found that I am very lonely, for my lack of joyous singing. 
> 
> I am also so very afraid, and so my life is filled with singing." 
> 
> \- Anonymous passage from 'Confessions of the Land,' from the Grand Library of Castle Town

Sky wakes to a pounding headache and a fist, pounding on his chest. He jerks, his eyes flying open, and is greeted by a too bright sun and Wind, whose face breaks into a smile before he tackles Sky in a crushing hug. 

“You’re awake,” he cries, his face buried in the crook of Sky’s neck. 

“I’m awake,” Sky chokes and wraps an arm around him, sitting up as best he can, and looks around. 

Oh, Hylia.

Large slabs of what were once stone buildings jut up from the ground, moss and ivy creepy along their surface, and the ground beneath him is moist and muddy. Sky swallows and glances up; there isn’t a cloud in sight. Or a dragon. Or a mountain. 

They are nowhere near Mt. Lanayru. 

“Hey,” he says softly and Wind pulls back to look around as well. “Where… are we…?” 

Wind bites his lips. 

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “I was kind of hoping you might have an idea, but…” 

Sky shakes his head and goes to stand. Pain rushes up his leg when he tries and he falls back with a hiss. Within seconds Wind is there, pressing a piece of cloth to Sky’s calf, where Sky can now see that his wound has opened back up. Wind pulls back, looking forlornly at the bloody remains of the Snowquill tunic that Wild bought him. He glances at Sky and shrugs. 

“It’s too hot anyways,” he mumbles, pulling a potion from his bag and pouring it over the wound before Sky can protest. “You should take yours off soon, too.”

Sky nods numbly; he’s already sweating and the steam coming off the nearby bog water is hot enough that he can feel it from where he sits. He strips off his Snowquill tunic, glad he’d kept a light undershirt on underneath, and folds it neatly at his side. 

“We shouldn’t stay here for very long, especially since we have no idea where we are,” he says and Wind nods, sighing as he looks at the ruins around them. He points to a patch of grass to their left. 

“I landed just beyond there,” Wind explains. “This whole place is surrounded by a bog.” He scowls. “It stinks, especially over there. I don’t think it’d be very smart to swim in it.” 

Sky grimaces. 

“Just our luck.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you think happened to the others?” 

Wind looks down at his hands and heaves a sigh. 

“I don’t know… ” he glances up at Sky. “Do you think… they’re dead?” 

Sky wants to tell him no. No, of course not. But then he remembers Twilight, crumpled in the bloody snow, and Time and Hyrule and Legend being flung into the storm. He remembers reaching for Warriors, holding on for dear life, and then not being able to hold on any longer. 

Wind is looking at him, pain clear on his face, and Sky swallows. 

“I… don’t know…” 

Wind nods silently and looks away. Sky watches him, trying to think of what to say, when Wind suddenly stands, his chin up. 

“Well, I don’t think they’re dead,” he states, voice firm. “I don’t believe any of us would go down that easy.” He turns and offers a hand out to Sky. “So... let’s go and find them!” 

Sky eyes Wind’s hand. There’s doubt in his mind and, for a moment, he just wants to lay down and give up. But Wind is staring at him with a look of unrestrained determination, so he swallows back whatever hesitations he has and grasps the offered hand, Wind helping him to his feet and supporting him when he stumbles. It’s a ridiculous set up, considering their height differences, but Sky’s grateful nonetheless and, together, they make their way into the rest of the swamp. 

They end up climbing one of the many pieces of raised ground; tiny plateau-like hills with ladders leading up their sides. Bridges span the gaps between them, crossing over stretches of bubbling bog; the smell is enough to make Sky gag and he ends wrapping his sail cloth around his mouth and nose in an attempt to make breathing a bit easier. Wind has stripped himself of his undershirt entirely, tying it around his face as well. He points, out across the swamp, where Sky can see a stretch of grass. 

“There,” he says, his voice muffled by the fabric. “I think that’s our way out.” 

It’s a long walk, across bridges and through thick grass. Sky feels his leg protesting already, even with the potion closing up the gash almost entirely. He eyes the area; the swamp is surrounded by tall cliffs on either side, cutting off any views of the world beyond. Sky sighs and nods to Wind. 

“Alright,” he mutters and begins to hobble across the next bridge. Wind stays beside him, offering support whenever he needs it. He keeps a hand on Sky’s back, a comforting presence as they cross through the unknown territory. 

Finally, after what must be over an hour, they reach the final stretch of bog, and discover a problem. 

“Shit,” Wind mutters and Sky has to agree. The bridge here is out; Sky can see whatever remains of it sticking partially out of the bog below. Wind squints his eyes and crosses his arms. “Well, now what?” 

Sky shifts and then falls back onto the ground, making Wind let out a squawk and kneel beside him, asking him if he’s okay. Sky waves him off, ignoring the ache in his leg, and tries to think. His mind is muddled, thoughts of how they’re going to get out of here mixing with how they got here in the first place. He bites his lip and puts a hand to his head. It feels like his whole mind is humming with questions and he doesn’t know what to focus on. Sky sighs and closes his eyes, trying to concentrate, but the humming only grows stronger. 

Wait. 

Sky opens his eyes and looks over to Wind, who is sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of their mini plateau. He’s humming, his fingers making motions in the air. He looks lost in thought, eyes tracing the path ways of the swamp. 

“What… is that?” 

Wind looks up, his song cut off, and gives Sky a questioning glance. Sky motions with his hands, copying what Wind had been doing before. Wind blushes and ducks his head. 

“Oh, uh. It’s one of the songs I learned on my, uh, adventure.” He turns, rifling through his bag, and produces a small, ornate conductor’s baton and presents it to Sky, who ‘ahs’ in understanding. 

“The Wind Waker,” Sky says, glancing up at Wind for confirmation. “That’s what you use to-”

“-control the wind,” Wind finishes with a nod. He blushes again. “I… like to hum when I’m thinking. Helps me focus.” 

Sky nods in understanding, smiling. Wind lifts his hand to start again, a single note starting in his mouth, when suddenly he pauses, his brows furrowed. 

“Wait,” he murmurs, glancing out at the bog. He’s speaking to himself, too low for Sky to make out. Suddenly his eyes widen and he jumps up, his hands moving frantically, and Sky jolts as he begins smiling. “Wait, wait, wait!”

“What, what?!” Sky is staggering to his feet now as Wind stalks back and forth across their little plateau, tapping his Wind Waker on his thigh. He rounds on Sky, a manic gleam in his eye. 

“Take your sail cloth off!” 

“ _ What? _ ” 

“Just - stop struggling! - do it!” Wind grabs Sky, ripping the sail cloth from where it’s wrapped around his face; Sky yelps, a pang of worry tearing through him as Wind handles the cloth so roughly, but Wind just lifts it to his face, expecting the fabric and than glancing out at the bog again. He smiles. “Do you think you’d be able to hold me up while sailing?” 

Sky splutters.

“What? I mean, I mean I guess…? I don’t know, I’ve never had to hold someone at the same time… and, and beside - there’s no updraft! We won’t be able to stay afloat… without…” He trails off; Wind is staring at him with a sly smile stretched across his face, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. Sky swallows, a mix of understanding and apprehension forming in his gut. 

“Oh…” he says quietly, nodding slightly. He stares at Wind a bit longer. “You better not kill us.” 

Wind laughs with a shrug and waves his Wind Waker through the air; Sky feels a slight breeze ruffle his hair. 

“Ok,” Wind says, spinning around with his hands on his hips. “This is what we’re going to do.” 

* * *

“I hate this.” 

“It’s going to be fine.”

“No, it won’t. I hate this. I hate you.”

“You love me.” 

Sky grimaces, looking back at Wind from where he stands on the edge of the plateau, his sail cloth held at the ready. Wind grins and gives him a thumbs up. Sky feels his face twist even more. 

“So… you ready?” Wind waggles his eyebrows, his Wind Waker held aloft. 

“No.”

“Aw, come on. You’re a hero, aren’t you?” 

“That doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.” 

Wind shrugs. 

“One in the same.” He widens his stance. “Alright let’s do this - remember: on my signal.”

Sky nods reluctantly, turning to look at the gorge in front of him. He takes a deep breath, then looks back at Wind. 

“Ok.” 

Wind starts soft, his hands coming up in front of him and then pausing; he holds the Wind Waker gingerly between the two fingers of his left hand, his breathing even as he prepares a song. He waves the it lightly and Sky feels the wind around them pick up ever so slightly, rustling through the long grasses of the bog. Then, with a flourish of the Wind Waker, Wind makes a sweeping motion with his hands and a blast of air spirals up around them and then moves to position itself over the gorge. Sky’s hair is buffeted by the gale and he bends his knees, steeling himself for the jump. 

“Now!” Wind calls and Sky thrusts himself forward from the ledge, leaping off and unfolding his sail cloth. The updraft catches it instantly and he’s pulled upwards from his fall. He hangs in the air and, for a moment, the anxiety ebs. 

Then Wind is there, jumping towards him with a cry and latching onto Sky’s legs, and the two of them drop, Sky yelping as his arms strain against the extra weight. Wind grips onto his pants desperately, his legs wrapping around Sky’s. He’s laughing maniacally, his hand that is still holding the Wind Waker waving frantically back and forth. 

“Shit! Fuck,” Sky cries as the gust of wind pushes them forward; they teeter dangerously in the air. Wind is still laughing, scrambling to keep ahold. Sky wails again as he feels the sail cloth slip in his grip. “Hylia dammit!” 

Wind lets out another whoop of laughter. 

“Shit! Haha! Don’t let go, don’t let go!” He cries, his eyes squeezed shut. He’s still smiling. “And watch your language!”

“Fuck you!”

Wind laughs all the way to the ground; the two of them tumble to a landing, bowling over each other until they land in a heap in a bed of long grass. Wind is on his feet immediately, whooping triumphantly, before reaching down and hauling Sky up as well. Sky stumbles, still trying to catch his breath; he’s smiling as well, he realizes, and then a laugh bubbles from his throat and he’s grabbing Wind, ignoring the pain in his leg as the two of them jump and dance and celebrate. In the back of his mind, Sky finds it a bit over the top, but with the disaster of Mount Lanayru still fresh in his mind, it feels mildly deserved. 

Their celebration dies down after a while, their energy spent, and they stand, catching their breath as they gaze out at the bog behind them. Sky pats Wind’s shoulder and the other hero grins breathlessly. 

“Good thinking,” Sky laughs. “Never do it again.” 

Wind nods, a chuckle rising from the back of his throat. 

“Let’s get going then,” he says after a moment. 

* * *

A large crack in the surrounding cliffs in their ticket out of the bog lands; they manage to squeeze through and find themselves in the shade of a small hollow, a shallow pool of water supplied by a trickling waterfall the only indication of bog nearby. 

The water is clear and pure and Sky can’t help himself when he bends down and scoops some up with cupped palms. Its cold and Sky hums with pleasure as he brings it to his lips. Next to him, Wind is kneeling on the ground, practically shoving his face into the pool and taking large gulps. He comes up with a gasp, his hair dripping wet. 

“Hylia, I was so thirsty!” He cries and then proceeds to dunk his undershirt into the water, scrubbing it with his hands. 

Sky nods in agreement and leans against the stone cliff behind them. There’s a break in the trees to their right and, beyond it, Sky can see fields and more small groves. 

Wind stands, shaking himself of water and ringing out his shirt; he looks rather bedraggled as he pulls the tattered thing back over his head and Sky winces as he imagines he doesn’t look much better. His thoughts are interrupted by a large gurgle. Wind blushes furiously, crossing his arms over his stomach. 

“Uh…” 

Sky raises an eyebrow, but smiles. 

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I’m starving. Let’s find a town or something.” He takes note of Wind’s appearance again. “We need some new clothes, too.” 

  
  


It takes them about an hour to realize they have no idea where they’re going; Sky’s pretty sure they’ve passed the same grove of trees twenty times now. His leg is still sore and he knows that if he sits now, he’ll be out and asleep until tomorrow. Wind seems rather unbothered, running around and exploring here and there. He sweeps through the grass, pulling rupees from the earth, as well a few peculiar blue shells. He holds one up for Sky to see. 

“What do you think?” 

“It’s a shell.” 

Wind rolls his eyes, throwing the shell into his bag, and sighs. They’re standing in the middle of another small field, no sign of any other people in sight. Wind grumbles and puts his hands on his hips. 

“Are there no paths in this place or something?!” 

Sky crosses his arms and sighs, glancing at the ground in thought. They could viably keep walking and just hope they’d eventually find civilization, but night is falling soon and Sky knows better than to remain in the open at night, especially in an unfamiliar place. 

“We should find shelter,” he starts, but then stops, staring at the ground beneath his feet; there’s stone peeking through the dirt, hidden by the tall grasses of the field. He kneels down, pushing aside the grass and brushing his hand over the dirt. It comes away easily, revealing the remnants of a cobblestone path.

“Wind, check it out.” 

Wind bends down as well. He begins to shuffle along the ground, eyes scanning the earth. 

“Here,” he calls, pointing, Sky comes up just as he’s brushing away more dirt. More stone sits, once hidden by overgrowth. Wind looks up excitedly, a gleam in his eye. “Let’s go!” 

He bounds forward, stopping every once in a while to check the ground. Sky sprints after him; soon they’re passing through rows and rows of trees, the expanses of fields before them becoming more uniform, lined with trees and shrubs and the stone walls, popping up over the tall grass. The pathways here are overgrown, hidden by wild grass and weeds, but as Wind and Sky continue forward, the road begins to clear. Wind lets out a triumphant cry, pointing ahead where a towering white wall is coming into view, ivy crawling up its facade. Sky can hear the low hum of a crowd beyond the walls; the quiet bustle of a market, closing for the evening. 

“Let’s hurry,” he says, grabbing Wind’s sleeve and pulling him along. They make it to the gates just as the lanterns of the town begin to light and Sky breathes a sigh of relief as he sees that many of the shops are still open; people mill about in the streets, baskets in hand as they shop, and Sky lets himself relax as he sees a vendor with various tunics still advertizing her wares.

“Thank Hylia,” he breathes and starts forward, Wind close behind. He’s about to ask him what he wants to get for dinner, when a deep voice stops them both in their tracks. 

“Halt!” 

Beside him, Wind yelps, and Sky takes a step back from the spear pointing at his neck. He swallows, eyes darting up to look at the soldier in front of him; the crest of Hyrule sits proudly on the man’s helm, similar to those Sky has seen in other Hyrules. Sky lifts his hands, placating, and the man lowers his spear ever so slightly. Wind stands at Sky’s side, chin held high as he stares down the guard, jaw tight. 

“Why have you come here,” the guard asks in a husky voice and Sky doesn’t miss the way he eyes both of them up and down, his gaze lingering on their weapons. 

“We’re just looking for some supplies and a place to stay,” Sky explains softly, though he keeps his voice firm. “We’re travelers.”

The guard balks a bit at his tone, but recovers enough to nod. 

“Where from, exactly?” 

“The mountains,” Sky answers, which isn’t exactly a lie, but the guard raises an eyebrow and Sky sees his grip tighten ever so slightly around his spear.

“Right… you mean the place with all the terrible storms and such… you’re from  _ there _ ?”

“That’s why we had to leave,” Wind breaks in, saving Sky from not having an answer. “Our home was destroyed and my, er, brother and I had to leave.” 

“Where’re your parents?” 

“Dead,” both answer at once and Sky casts a sideways glance at Wind, before continuing. “Sir, we really mean no trouble at all. We’d just like to do some shopping before market closes and then find an inn, if there’s one available.” 

The guard stares at them a moment longer, as if mulling Sky’s words over in his head. He gently lowers his spear, taking a step back. He nods to the town square behind him. 

“The market will be open awhile longer. As for the inn… I doubt you’ll be able to get a room so late, but you can try. If you end up not being able to stay there, come find me, or tell another guard that Ald sent you. We’ll see if we can find you a place.” 

“Thank you,” Sky says graciously with a dip of his head. Wind nods vigorously beside him. The guard, Ald, blinks down at them, before stepping aside and allowing them to pass. As they go, he gives them one more cursory look over. 

“If I catch the two of you making trouble, you’ll be answering to me.” He grimaces. “And for Hylia’s sake, wash up.” 

“We won’t,” Wind calls back, then pauses. “Er, we will. I mean, we won’t make trouble, but we will, uh, wash-” 

Sky takes him by the shoulder as he stumbles over the words, leading him away from where Ald is watching with a mix of amusement and exasperation. 

The market is quiet and calm, the few people left idly chatting in the square or doing some last rounds. Sky makes his way over to the young woman selling tunics and other various clothing items; she smiles at him in understanding as he approaches and helps him pick out a few pieces.

“I think this green would like mighty fine on you,” she remarks warmly, holding up a pale green tunic against his chest. Sky laughs lightly and nods, handing her a few rupees. He spies a soft blue tunic among the piles and picks it up, examining it gingerly in his hands. It’s a bit big, but he doesn’t think Wind will mind. 

He pays for their clothes, thanking the woman profusely when she gives him a discount, and tries to ignore the wink she gives him as he leaves. He finds Wind bargaining nearby with another standmaster over some fruits. He’s worried for a moment, but there’s a spark of mischief in the old man’s eyes as he speaks with Wind and Sky can tell they’re both enjoying the banter. Wind finally procures a basket of fruit, slipping the man some rupees, and then jogs over to Sky with his prize. 

“What do you think?” He asks, holding the basket aloft. Inside sit a bundles of small dark berries, a few apples, and a couple of pears. Sky nods his approval. It’s not much, but, with the market in the midst of closing, they’ll take what they can get. 

“Let’s find a place to rest and eat,” he says and Wind yawns. 

“Yeah.” 

* * *

“I’m sorry, but we’re full for the night.” 

Sky drops his head in defeat. They’ve not even made it through the doorway and already the woman at the desk is giving him a firm shake of her head. 

“Right,” he says and backs away, ignoring Wind’s groan of annoyance. “Thank you anyways.” 

The woman just huffs and goes back to her reading. Sky sighs once the door is closed, leaning against its surface. Wind is staring forlornly at the ground, his brow furrowed; he picks a berry from his basket and pops it into his mouth, before handing one to Sky. Sky takes it gratefully. It’s sweet and tart and juicy and all Sky wants to do it sit on a warm bed and eat the rest. In his hands, the tunics sit neatly folded in a basket from the clothing shop, courtesy of the owner. Sky wrinkles his nose and wishes he could change right now. Instead, he pushes away from the door and looks at Wind.

“Come on,” he sighs. “Let’s go find Ald and see if he can help us find a place to stay.” 

Wind grimaces. 

“He’ll probably make us sleep in the barracks with all the soldiers.” 

“If you complain, he might make you sleep in a cell.” 

Wind scowls and throws a berry at Sky, who only laughs. 

“Hey, come on - we just paid for those!” 

“No,  _ I  _ paid for them.” 

“I guess you don’t want the new tunic I got you then?” 

“Son of bitch, give it here!” 

Sky laughs, holding the bag far above his head as they walk. Wind stops after a while, giving Sky a playful jab with his elbow.

They make their way down the pathway that leads back to the townsquare. Sky spots the remaining vendors cleaning up their areas; a few wave as they pass by and Sky is reminded a bit of home. The familiarity of it all. He misses it. Wind leans into his side as they walk, his eyes lidded, and Sky places an arm around his shoulder; the cool night air brings up more memories; camping out with the others, listening to Hyrule’s stories, eating Wild’s food. Sky thinks about where his friends could be now. Wind seems to be thinking the same thing; he slows, looking up towards the sky where a few stars have begun to appear. 

“I hope we find them soon,” he murmurs and Sky hums. Wind blinks, then looks at him. “Do you think they’re here, too?” 

Sky shrugs, still staring at the stars above and wonders if the rest of their group can see them too. 

“I hope so,” he whispers. 

The two of them stand there, silent for a while, as the market closes around them. Finally, Sky squeezes Wind shoulder, offering the younger a small smile. 

“C’mon,” he says. “We should go find Ald.” 

Wind nods and opens his mouth to reply, when he’s interrupted by a yell. 

“Epona, no!” 

Sky whips around, eyes wide. Wind is staring, slack jawed, at the scene before them. 

There, at the edge of the square, struggling to control her horse, is Malon.


	4. Sky II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is the kindness of strangers that brings me the most astonishment in my life; how can one who knows not of my travels, nor of my burdens, be so willing to extend their hand to me in a moment of great selflessness. 
> 
> It is these actions which convince me that we have all met before, in one way or another; perhaps it is through dreams, or a collective thought, or a bridge across lifetimes and worlds. 
> 
> Whatever it is, we are inclined to reach out to another, to grasp their hand as you would a friend, and so, when I take the hand of a stranger in my own, I cannot help but think that I have known them for all my lives." 
> 
> \- Oruk Olm, Royal Philosopher and Tutor of Zelda IV

Malon is, in every incarnation apparently, beautiful and kind; she thanks them profusely when they help her wrangle Epona in and takes Sky by the hand the moment she hears they have no place to stay. 

“Come home with me, then,” she says and looks to Wind as well, who is equally as stunned by the proposition as Sky. Malon doesn’t seem to notice. “Papa won’t mind,” she assures them. “Not after he hears how you helped me with Epona and - oh, pardon me,” she blushes and brings hand to her cheek. “I haven’t even asked your names!” 

“Sky…” Sky mumbles, still a bit shocked, and Wind does the same. Malon smiles brightly, turning to take Epona’s reins. 

“My name is Malon,” she says and Sky resists the urge to say he already knows. “You boys better come right on home with me then - like I said, Papa won’t mind one bit!” 

She begins to lead them away before they argue; Wind follows, casting a sideways glance at Sky as he passes, a look of mild panic clear as day on his face. 

_ Hylia, _ Sky thinks as he trails behind, staring at the back of the young woman in front of them; this Malon must be a few years his younger, all bouncy red hair and freckles. She keeps glancing back, as if to make sure they really are coming with her and hums as she goes, a familiar tune from when Sky and the others had visited Time’s ranch and his… Malon. Sky grits his teeth; this is way to confusing and concerning and now he’s thinking about everyone else who’s probably been reincarnated like the rest of them and  _ Hylia, what were you thinking? _

He feels, for half a moment, guilty, before lights appear ahead and Malon announces that they’re home. 

Lon Lon Ranch is different here; smaller and quaint like the buildings from town; there’s a light in the window and the door flies open as they near, a short, sturdy man running to meet them. Sky never had a chance to meet Talon when Time had brought them to his home, but he’d heard stories of Malon’s father; a kind, if somewhat carefree, man, devoted to his daughter and farm. 

“Malon,” he cries, out of breath by the time he reaches them. He bends over, taking a gulp of air, before straightening up and drawing his daughter close. “You’re late,” he admonishes and pulls back to look at her. “I had feared-” 

Malon waves him away, an easy smile on her face. 

“I’m fine,” she says and gestures to where Sky and Wind are standing quietly at attention behind her. “Epona was being a bit difficult, but these lads helped me rein her in.” She introduces them both and Sky lifts his hand in awkward greeting.

Talon looks to them and Sky sees the suspicion in his eyes; he pulls Malon aside, whispering to her quietly. Sky can’t catch much more than a few words about ‘storms’ and ‘mountains’ and ‘monsters,’ but Malon doesn’t see to pay her father’s concerns much mind. Instead she places her hands on her hips and purses her lips. 

“Well, I already offered them shelter and food for the night, and it’d be rude to turn them away now,” she states aloud, and turns before Talon can rebuke her. “Come inside,” she says brightly to Sky and Wind. 

Sky shuffles his feet. 

“Um, we really… don’t want to intrude,” he trails off and glances to where Talon is watching them nervously, but Malon just takes him by arm and grabs Wind as well, dragging them towards the door. Behind them Talon sighs and shakes his head, smiling gently as he takes Epona away to the stables.

Malon forces them each into a chair almost immediately, insisting that they sit and rest as she heads to a small kitchen where Sky can hear her beginning to work. There’s a fire going, with a cauldron hanging over it, and Malon appears with a plate of meat, which she plunks unceremoniously into the already boiling water. 

“Uh,” Wind says with uncertainty. “Do you need any help?” 

Malon looks up and Sky can see that she’s wants to refuse, but Wind is pulling that look that he pulls with Time; bigs eyes, ear downturned, his hands wrung in front of him. Malon opens her mouth to object, but then relents, a soft smile gracing her features. 

Talon returns to find all three of them working together, Malon and Sky chopping away in the kitchen while Wind sets the tables and stirs the soup. Sky catches Malon’s father standing in the doorway, watching him, but he’s distracted by Malon who takes the vegetable he’s half way through chopping and chops the rest of it herself. She shrugs and turns to bring them to Wind. 

When the soup is finally ready and the four of them are sat at the table, Malon recounts her day at the market and Talon remarks upon their lack of customers. Sky and Wind remain quiet, throwing glances at each other as they eat. Wind keeps trying to mouth something to Sky, but Sky only shakes his head, unable to comprehend what his friend is saying. He can see Wind growing more and more frustrated, but then Talon clears his throat and both heroes sit up straight to look at him. 

“So,” he says. “Sky, was it?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Where did you say you came from again?”

“The mountains,” Sky says and thinks back on the soldier from before. “We were, uh, displaced by the storm. My brother and I.” 

Wind is nodding along with the story, shoving another piece of bread into his mouth. Talon nods as if deep in thought; he eyes Sky for a moment, bringing his hand to his chin. Sky takes a sip of his drink, the silence growing a bit awkward. 

“Are you married?” 

Sky splutters into his drink as Wind lets out a bark of laughter. Talon is sitting there, expectantly, while, beside him, Malon is looking at him in horror. Sky shakes his head, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he tries to catch his breath.

“N-no,” he chokes out. Talon squints his eyes and gives him a once over. 

“Well, if you’re looking to court my Malon here-”

“Father!” Malon cries and Sky feels his face grow hot. Wind is cackling into his bread and Sky shakes his head again, vehemently, and swallows. 

“No, no, I’m not - I already have - you see, we’re not really-” 

Talon cuts him over with a wave of his hand, hearty laughter bubbling from his mouth. He stands, placing a hand on Malon’s head; his daughter has her face in her hands, her face almost as red as her hair, and she refuses to look up even when Sky begins to help Talon clear the table. Talon asks him again, in the private of the kitchen, but Sky only shakes his head, adamant. Thankfully, this time Talon seems to believe him. 

When he returns to the table, Malon still has her face covered. 

“Ignore him,” comes her muffled response when Wind asks if she’s alright. “Please. He’s just trying to embarrass me.” 

Sky grants her the mercy of not bringing it up for the rest of the evening and, to his relief, neither does Talon, simply bidding them goodnight as he retires to his room. Malon takes some spare blankets from a nearby chest. 

“I hope you don’t mind the barn,” she says softly, leading them outside. “It’s all we’ve got - but I promise it’s dry and warm.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Sky replies watching as Wind scales the barn loft and begins to create a nest with the blankets that Malon has supplied. He’s about to follow, when Malon shifts on his feet looking at the ground. 

“Are they beautiful?” She asks quietly and Sky raises an eyebrow. Malon glances at him and smiles at his confusion. “You mentioned someone, before, at dinner.” 

Sky huffs and looks down.

“Yeah,” he replies softly. “She is.” 

Malon nods and looks up to where Wind is already passed out, snoring blissfully.

“I’m still waiting,” she says and laughs. “I’m quite too young anyways but… there… there used to be this boy… we were friends when we were younger. He helped me find the key to the ranch once when Father and I were locked out.” She pauses and shrugs. “He always visited after that, or bought milk from me in the market, and then…” She trails off. Sky tilts his head, looking at her. 

“And then?” 

“And then he went away,” Malon replies with a sigh. “He… saved us,” she says and Sky gets a sinking feeling in his stomach as she continues. “He saved us and the princess and then he left, off on more adventures I guess.” She shrugs. “I haven’t seen him since.” 

Sky watches her silently before looking down. 

“What was his name?” Sky asks, but he already knows the answer. Malon sighs again. 

“Link.” 

Sky nods, once. He wonders, idly, which one of them she speaks of, before bidding her goodnight as well and climbing the ladder up to the loft. Malon lingers in the doorway, before she leaves, taking her candlelight with her. Sky watches her go, quiet, before he turns to get ready for bed. He chuckles when he sees how Wind has splayed himself out over the blankets, taking up most of the room.

He wants to wake him; ask him about whatever he’d tried to tell Sky at dinner, but decides against it. 

Instead he just nudges Wind aside. The younger grumbles and turns over, his face scrunched in sleep as Sky settles down beside him. In the dark, he thinks about Malon’s words. 

He wonders if, like how they’re destined to save the world again and again, she’s destined, in every life, to love a tragic hero. He plays with his sail cloth, rubbing the soft fabric between his fingers and letting his mind wander to lighter thoughts and memories. Beside him, Wind turns, nuzzling his face into Sky’s shoulder, and sighs in his sleep. Sky smiles. Malon was right; the barn is warm and dry. He settles deeper into the blankets, his eyes slipping closed, and allows himself to relax, the stillness of the barn a comforting presence in the face of their earlier troubles.

* * *

_ He opens his eyes to darkness. And then blinding light; lightning, arching across a turbulent sky. _

_ Rising winds almost send Link tumbling over the edge of the ravine that he finds himself on, perched on the precipice of a dark abyss that he cannot see the bottom of. He stumbles back, the storm buffeting his sail cloth. It’s almost unbearably hot here, despite the onslaught of rain, and Link staggers about, blind in the storm. His hands grip something hard and jagged and he them rips away with a cry, steam rolling off his palms and the rock before him.  _

_ Another cry answers back, muffled and far away, but Link almost recognises it.  _

_ “Hey,” he yells, casting about with his hands. “Is anybody there?!”  _

_ Another cry, coming from a different direction, answers. Link whips around.  _

_ “Where are you?!”  _

_ He steps and his foot slips on slick rock, the ground crumbling beneath him and sending him tumbling down a slope. He slams against a slab of stone and the world spins and spins and spins until it stops and he’s able to push himself up, using the stone as support.  _

_ Light illuminates the sky over head and Link catches sight of a serpentine shadow amidst the clouds, twisting and contorting before its image seems to flicker and disappear. Link blinks the rain from his eyes, clutching the rock as he stares skyward.  _

_ He can see the outline of a peak above him, outlined against rolling clouds, and he sees the ravine in all its glory, splitting the mountain almost entirely in half. As he looks on, a light begins to glow from deep within the ravine and Link shrinks low against the slab of stone, horrified as the mountain shudders and liquid red begins to bubble up and seep from the fissure. The heat intensifies, the rain turning to steam before it even reaches the ground, and Link can feel his feet begin to burn. He scrambles, yelping as the ground beneath him glows hot red.  _

_ Above him, the sky seems to split as the serpent reappears, its screech echoing above the howling winds, if only for a moment, and Link screams as the ground beneath him erupts in fire and lava and agony. _

_ And then it is dark. _

* * *

Sky wakes with a jolt, chest heaving, to find Wind nearly on top of him, snoring into his ear. He catches his breath, gasping once or twice, before bringing a shaking hand up to nudge Wind’s shoulder. His palms tingle and he can almost see smoke curling up from his skin. 

“...Wind,” he whispers, his voice shaking. 

“…”

“Wind!”

“Mm’what…?” Wind shifts, pushing himself even further on top of Sky. He’s warm and heavy and Sky thinks of a raging storm and agonizing heat; he shudders and tries to school his breathing as he tries to force Wind off of him.

“Get off me!”

“No… you’re comfy…” 

Sky grits his teeth, finally shoving Wind aside and sitting up with a huff. Wind grumbles and complains as Sky stands and then practically drags Wind to his feet as well. 

“What, what, what?!” Wind yelps, stumbling. He glares at Sky and then looks out the nearby window, moaning as he catches sight of the dawn sky. “The sun’s barely risen,” he cries, attempting to collapse back onto their makeshift bed. Sky catches him, forcing him back up. 

“We’re leaving,” he forces out and turns to start cleaning up the bed. Wind watches him annoyed. 

“Why?” He scowls and stretches, sighing when a loud pop comes from somewhere near his shoulder. “It’s surprising to see  _ you  _ up so early.”

Sky shakes his head, his thoughts flitting to his dream again, and grabs Wind’s discarded tunic, throwing it to him. 

“We need to go, now.” Outside there’s footsteps and Sky glances out the window to see Malon, already up and dressed, making her way over to a nearby cucco coop. Sky bites his lip. “There’s something wrong here… whatever it is, it’s connected to what was going on in Wild’s Hyrule.” 

Wind watches him, his gaze serious, and then turns, grabbing his bag and packing away his night clothes. He doesn’t question Sky’s actions after that, only nodding when Sky recounts his dream, as if he’d already guessed it was something like that.

“That doesn’t sound like Mount Lanayru,” he mutters, thinking over Sky’s words. Sky nods, already making his way down the ladder. Wind throws him their bags and then follows, leaping down the last few feet and slinging his pack over his shoulder. “We should eat before we go,” he says, combing his hair with his fingers until it looks somewhat presentable. Sky nods and his about to search through he his bag for some provisions when Malon appears in the doorway, carrying a bucket. She spies their bags and her face turns troubled. 

“Your leaving.” It’s not a question. Sky bites his lip, and it’s Wind who speaks for them. 

“We have to get going,” he says, walking over to Malon and inclining his head. “Thank you for your hospitality.” 

Malon shakes her head, looking between the two of them. 

“But… you said you had no home… I’m sure Papa wouldn’t mind if you stayed a bit longer!” She places her bucket down. “You can help out around the farm, or find work in town!” 

She smiles hopefully, but Sky shakes his head, stepping forward to place a hand on her shoulder. 

“No,” he says. “We have to go.” He thinks of his dream and the mountain and the storm. “We’re going back to the mountains to, er, recover what we can.” He smiles, hoping it looks convincing enough. “Thank you though. We really do appreciate all you’ve done for us.” 

Malon nods absently, and looks down. She bites her lip and then bends to pick up her bucket. 

“Then,” she says quietly and makes her way over to a nearby stable. She unlocks the latch and leads out a large dappled grey. She smiles and hands its lead to Sky. “Take him. Sounds like you have quite a journey ahead of you.” 

Sky stares at her in quiet surprise and then shakes his head viciously, trying to hand her back the horse. 

“No, no,” he insists, but Malon steps away. “We can’t take him - he’s your  _ horse _ !” 

Malon shrugs, an easy smile on her face. 

“I have other horses. And Papa was plannin’ on giving him away anyways to some… less than desirable people.” She makes a face. “I’d rather you take him.” 

Sky grips the lead with uncertainty and turns to Wind, only to find him already nuzzling his face against the horse’s snout, cooing as he does. Sky swallows. 

“What will your Father say?” He asks Malon, but she’s already shaking her head and bringing over a spare saddle and bridal. She fixes up the horse, who whinnies softly when Sky reaches a hand up to lay on his cheek. 

“His name is Lug,” Malon says fondly, patting Lug’s flank. “Take good care of him, will you?”

“Of course.” 

Malon nods. She helps them pack their bags onto Lug, who stands patient and sturdy as they do so, and then Malon leads them out of the stables, checking first to make sure that Talon has not left the house yet. 

“Go,” she says quietly, helping Wind climb up onto Lug behind Sky. “I’ll explain things to my father.” 

Sky watches her for a moment, then turns and digs through his pack. He counts out of sight and then, satisfied, tosses Malon a small pouch.

“Here.”

Malon catches it easily, peeking inside and then whipping her head up to look at him, her eyes wide. 

“I can’t-”

Sky holds up a hand. 

“You can.” He pats Lug’s neck. “We can’t just take him for nothing.” Behind him, Wind shifts and then another pouch is tossed in Malon’s direction, which she barely catches this time, still rather shocked. Sky smiles and then urges Lug forward before Malon can argue. He twists in the saddle, waving goodbye. Wind does the same. 

“Thank you,” Wind calls, his smile wide. Sky can see Malon finally lift a hesitant hand to wave as well and then she’s gone, disappearing from sight as their path slopes downward.

They ride in silence for the better part of an hour, eating some deer jerky that Wind produces from his pack and watching the countryside pass by. In the distance, a mountain blooms into view, a storm blanketing its peak. 

“What do we do when we get there,” Wind asks after a while, leaning forward to rest his chin on Sky’s shoulder. Lug huffs, tossing his head a bit and Sky pulls on the reins a bit, grumbling. He’s not as good a rider as some of the others. Wild or Warriors. Certainly not Twilight. 

“We get to the mountain,” he says gaining control again. Wind waits for him to continue and Sky realizes that he doesn’t actually have a plan. He looks back at Wind and grimaces. Wind watches him for a moment and then rolls his eyes. 

“Right,” he says. “So we get there, without a plan, and what? Suddenly a portal opens up, we jump through, and we’re reunited with everyone?” He pauses. “Or maybe the mountain opens up and swallows us whole.”

Sky winces and Wind lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“Hey, give me a break,” Sky huffs, a bit indignant. “You have a better idea?”

Wind doesn’t respond, just yawns into Sky’s shoulder. Sky hums. 

“I figure… I mean, there’s obviously something going on with the mountain. Just like with Mount Lanayru is Wild’s Hyrule.” He shrugs, displacing Wind’s head and causing the other to grumble. “It’s our best chance of getting back to the others… or at least finding out what could be going on.” 

Wind leans back and Sky turns to see him staring ahead at the mountain, still quite far away. 

“It’ll be a few days journey,” he says idly.

“Yes.”

“It’ll probably be dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“The people around here seem to be scared of whatever’s going on there.” 

“Yes.” 

Wind nods and sighs. 

“Well then,” he says, sounding rather resigned. “Sounds like the job for us.” 

Sky raises his eyebrows. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, glancing at the other hero. Wind doesn’t respond right away, still staring at the mountain ahead, his expression blank. Sky reaches back, but pauses halfway as Wind lowers his head downward, blinking. He sighs finally, his head still bowed low. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly, his hands playing with the seams of his new tunic. He lifts his head, a small forced smile gracing his features. “I’m okay.”


	5. Time I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quiet was the night I found her,  
strewn bare across my bed. 
> 
> Silver was the light that cast  
a crown around her lovely head. 
> 
> Cloudless was the evening sky  
and the summer breeze was warm.
> 
> I pushed aside my wonderment  
to sink beside her perfect form.
> 
> She drew me to her waiting chest,  
parting lips upon my crown.
> 
> We did not speak a single word,  
our silence lovelier than sound. 
> 
> \- Poem submitted for consideration to the Royal Archive of Prose and Poetry, Author Unknown

It’s raining.

The little fire he’s created sputters and he reaches a hand out to shield it as best he can, praying that the tree roots he’s nestled within offer enough cover to let him and the fire both ride out the storm. It’s a hopeless venture of course; he’s never been Hylia’s favorite, and the fire flickers once, twice, before a harsh wind sweeps through the tree roots and he is cast in darkness. 

Time sighs. 

Outside, somewhere, lost in the onslaught of rain, he can hear an owl calling, and he’s tempted to follow it, his legs already stretching out to stand before he stops himself. He’s not a lost child. He’s a frustrated and rain soaked hero and Hylia be damned for landing him here in wherever he is. Thunder crashes overhead and Time presses himself into the bark of the tree and wraps his snowquill tunic around himself a little tighter. Outside, the looming shapes of trees are backlit by lightning and Time can’t help but remember his first storm; fresh out into the world of men, the trees of his childhood home fading behind him as he ran, only to be caught in a torrential downpour. 

Navi had complained, endlessly, about the wetness in her wings, but Time had been too enraptured by the sheets and sheets of water that seemed to fall from nowhere to really mind the way his hair was plastered to his face or that his tunic was becoming increasingly heavier with rain. 

It never rained in Kokiri Forest; the trees, like the children they sheltered, were kept alive solely by the Deku Tree. Time remembers learning to fear the outside world and the thoughts of sure death should he set even a single foot outside the boundaries of groves and shrubs that marked the edge of the forest, only to be greeted by open skies and distant hills and weather so new and wonderful he didn’t know to hate it. 

The sky now is dark. Time squints, trying to see through the rain, but the storm is too heavy, obscuring anything that lay beyond the surrounding trees, and he resigns himself to remaining where he is, in the shelter of this great oak. Even with the pounding of rain and the rolling thunder over head, it is far too silent. 

He doesn’t like silence. He likes quiet; quiet like the nights when he’d lay side by side with Malon and just listen to her steady breathing. Or quiet like the dewy fields, where he would take Epona for a morning walk. 

Silence is different. 

Silence is the nights alone, when Malon stays and he goes away, unsure of whether he’ll ever return. Silence is a body, void of life, chest still under his pounding fist. Silence is a bed for thoughts to take root in, a home for every doubt he’d ever have. 

So he hates the silence. 

“I hate this,” he says aloud, just to break it. Perhaps Hylia will hear him this time, as if all the other times he’d called out she’d simply not been paying attention. “I hate this,” he says again because it feels nice to be the one complaining, for once. There’s no one here for him to lead or command or reprimand. No one here to talk to, or share a meal with. No one here to break the silence. 

The others could be out there. They could be looking for him, calling for him. They could wandering, lost and alone. They could be hurt.

They could be dead.

Time pushes the thought away as best he can.

“I hate this,” he says one last time and part of him hopes it is heard above the storm; that someone will appear out of the rain and take his hand, or land on his shoulder and whisper some advice into his ear. But no one appears and, as his voice fades, the silence returns again, somehow louder than the storm itself. 

He knows the thoughts will come soon, and the regrets, but he’s used to them enough by now that he simple leans against the tree roots and tilts his head back, staring up into the shadows of the tree’s underbelly, and waits.

* * *

He doesn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he’s woken by a loud caw and opens his eyes to see a crow perched outside of his small shelter, cocking its head side to side as it stares at him. He stares back. The two of them sit in an uneasy silence, neither willing to break gaze, until the crow caws again and takes off, sailing away through the trees. Time sits and listens as its cry fades away, before crawling out from under his tree and staggering to his feet. His joints protest, his knees cracking after having sat for so long, and he groans, stretching. 

“I’m getting too old for this,” he mutters, glaring at the sky. The clouds have yet to part ways, but the rain has died down to a light drizzle and he finds it in himself to start walking out into the trees and begin looking for an exit. 

The woods here are thick and blanketed in mist; navigating them brings back long stored away memories of hide and seek. He finds himself eyeing tree hollows and fallen logs, the perfect places to tuck oneself away and wait. He can almost imagine a green cap peeking out from behind a large bush. 

He shakes his head to clear his mind. 

_ Focus. _

Time treads lightly through a patch of mushrooms growing in the shade of a large tree, careful not to disturb them too much; thoughts of childhood and the long ago past seem to seep like sap from the bark of the trees around him and he finds himself stopping more and more as the memories threaten to overwhelm him. He pauses, leaning against a tree and bringing a hand to his head as a particularly clear image of Saria flashes through his mind; it hasn’t been this bad for a long time. He pulls his hand away to find it shaking. 

“Shit,” he mutters aloud and the sound of his voice seems to clear away some of the fog in his mind; the faded laughter of children is replaced by the sound of birds calls and rain hitting leaves and Time finds himself able to breathe a little bit easier. “You’re alright,” he whispers to himself, taking comfort in the sound of his own voice. 

When did he learn to dread the quiet so?

He keeps talking to himself, an ongoing monologue consisting of mostly self reassurance and the odd curse here or there as he becomes more and more turned around by the seemingly endless trees and fog. The clouds have yet to part, leaving him cast in an eerie unbroken grey. 

“You’re usually good at this,” he mutters harshly as he backtracks once again, taking a right instead of left this time; the mist around him seems to thicken as he walks, until he can barely see his hand in front of his face, and he stops, unsure. 

There’s something achingly familiar about this place, but he pushes that notion away, deep down, and staggers forward, hands out in front of him as he feels for something to latch onto. The bird cries have long since faded, as well as the rain; Time is alone in the mist, surrounded on all sides by a sort of nothingness, and he stumbles blindly forward, breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps as he grows more and more lost; his voice is gone - he only realizes it when he stumbles and can’t cry out - and his gaze darts wildly about, searching for anything within the mist, anyone to come forward and take his hand and guide him through what has quickly gone from a simple forest to a sort of hellscape. His chest tightens, as if something has wrapped itself around him and is pulling him back; he struggles, eyes wide, curling in on himself and sucking in a hissed breath and he realizes, quite suddenly, that he’s panicking. 

He feels the pull again; something tugging him backwards to wherever he came from. He tries to pull away, to keep moving forward, but the mist is suffocating now, closing in around him and curling up between his limbs. He feels weightless, smothered in a white blanket that fills his vision and his mouth so that he ends up choking on nothing. He’s tugged backwards again and, this time, he stumbles, the mist wrapping itself around his legs and arms and torso, and he submits to its demands without much thought; there’s a vague idea that this could be it, an interesting way to go, and that he never truly got the chance to say ‘goodbye', but then something touches his hand; something small, and soft, and new; it’s warm, a stark contrast to mist. It grasps Time’s hand firmly, stopping his decent. 

_ No.  _

Time hears it, or maybe thinks it; a voice, small and soft and warm. It cuts through the mist and he regains his balance; he can feel the ground beneath his feet again. 

_ Not this one. _

There’s a moment of stillness, as if he’s been caught between two opposing yet equal sides and now sits in a sort of limbo, and then the mist retreats, pulling away from him so fast that he’s left reeling. Time sinks to his knees, shaking as his vision returns. 

He is alone. 

He stares downward, the muted grass a grounding force beneath his finger tips, and takes in gulps of air. It takes a few seconds for him to come back to himself, for the world to stop spinning, and then he can look up. He is still in the forest, the mist dancing lazily at the edges of his vision, but he can see the trees again and hear the calls of crows, somewhere far off. He’s kneeling at the base of a large tree stump, it’s mass almost twice as wide as he is long. Time shudders, a wave of exhaustion washing over him, and he practically crawls over to the stump, turning and slumping down against it, his chest heaving. The mist stays away, swirling and morphing and dissapaiting, only to return a few seconds later, but it lets him alone, never venturing closer than a few feet, before retreating back into the shadow of the trees. 

Time lets his shoulders droop and closes his eyes, letting out a long sigh.

“You’re alright,” he whispers quietly, his voice soft, but there. A gentle breeze passes over him and he thinks, for a moment, that he hears a voice, but it’s gone before he can register what it had said and he’s too tired to try and find its owner now. He feels oddly peaceful, his panic from earlier retreating with the mist and, despite a lingering sense of unease sitting silent in the back of his mind, he lets himself sleep. 

* * *

_ Saria is too fast for him, though to be fair, almost all of the other Kokiri are; he stumbles as he chases her, yelping when he falls forward, his foot catching on a root. She’s there in seconds, laughing as she helps him to his feet, and then they’re off again, racing through the trees. Saria’s fairy darts between them, her trail of light dancing as a breeze rushes it away. Link feels a twinge of jealousy as he watches the fairy dip low and settle near Saria’s shoulder, whispering something in her ear. He wishes, not for the first time, that he had a fairy of his own. Saria nods as she listens, her eyes closed, and then smiles at Link, winking, before she turns and sprints away, disappearing into the trees. Link blinks and then laughs, his earlier longing forgotten, as he chases after her, following the trail of her fairy deeper and deeper into the woods.  _

_ He can hear her ahead of him, laughing and giggling, her footsteps light (far lighter than his) as she traverses through their beloved forest.  _

_ “Saria,” he calls and hears her laugh in response. “Saria, wait!” He’s laughing as well, scanning the trees for a burst bright green or the glow of a fairy. He slows, breath evading him and leans against a nearby tree to catch it.  _

_ “Saria,” he calls again, but this time only silence greets him. He pauses, waiting, then tries again to no avail. He bites his lip. Saria has always come back for him, unlike the other children. He pushes away from the tree and begins to walk, slowly, in the direction that his friend disappeared.  _

_ It’s getting dark, what little sky visible between the canopy above washed in the brilliant colours of sunset.  _

_ “Hello?” he calls, but nobody answers. There’s movement over his left shoulder and Navi flutters close, a shiver running through her small form. He brings a hand up and she presses against it, small in his weathered palm.  _

_ The woods here seem strange to him now; smaller. He glances around as he walks, noting how the trees that once seems like towers now fall short of his expectations, though their eerie nature prevails. Navi hums, as if understanding his thoughts.  _

_ “Well, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”  _

_ Yes, she’s right. Saria’s been gone a long time. He should find her soon.  _

_ Navi stares at him, almost sadly, though he doesn’t understand why.  _

_ “No, Link,” she says quietly and something in her voice makes him stop, turning his head to look at her fully. Navi flutters her wings and moves away from him slightly. “It’s been a long time.”  _

_ Link still doesn’t understand. He shakes his head, about to ask her what she’s talking about when a sound catches his attention from up ahead and instead he moves towards it, picking up his pace until he reaches a small clearing, where a man sits quietly, against a small tree.  _

_ Cojiri, once nothing more than a quiet and limp form in his arms, begins to crow, flapping his wings and fighting to get out of Link’s grasp. Navi trills softly at sight.  _

_ “Oh my,” she says. “That must be -”  _

_ “Grog,” Link says, standing over the man. He holds out Cojiri, who Grog inspects with a wary eye, before turning his gaze to Link. He stares up at him and Link swallows, suddenly aware of how tall he’s become. Grog grimaces, reaching out to lightly touch Cojiri’s feathers. The cucco coos and Grog smiles.  _

_ “You’re a nice guy,” he says quietly to Link. Link smiles, shrugging. Grog turns, reaching into his bag and producing a small mushroom. “Here,” he says, presenting it to Link. “Take it.”  _

_ Link nods, reaching out.  _ __   
  


_ “You mustn’t.”  _

_ It isn’t Saria, though the green tunic does throw him off at first. Instead, Fado sits on a nearby stump, shaking her head. Link turns to where Grog once sat and clenches the vial in his hand a bit tighter.  _

_ “I came to give it to him,” he says but Fado only shakes her head and reaches a hand out.  _

_ “You mustn’t. It will not work.” She takes the vial from him, turning it over in her hand. “Such a potion will do nothing for monsters...” she whispers and glances at him. “I wonder…” she says cryptically, still staring at him, then shakes her head and looks away. “All who become lost here turn to stalfos.”  _

_ Link watches as she stands, her own fairy dancing lazily above her head. She stares at him, a quiet sort of sadness invading the smile gracing her features. She nods to the tree.  _

_ “See?”  _

_ A skeleton sits, slumped against the pale bark, its once brilliant armor rusted and covered with inching vines. Link grimaces as he notes the crack in the skeleton’s helmet and the way its hands lay limply upon its lap. He takes a step back, suddenly disturbed, and turns to ask Fado what happened, but the Kokiri is gone. Link takes in a hissed breath.  _

_ “Oh,” Navi whispers at his shoulder. Link looks at her, but her form seems to blur as if he is seeing her through teary eyes. “It has been a long time, Link,” she says. He blinks, confused, and then she is gone. He is sitting alone against a tree, staring out into the lost woods. He takes a rattling breath, his mouth suddenly dry.  _

_ “Navi?” he tries, but no voice escapes him. He tries again, but it’s as if he is fresh out of the Temple of Time, shocked and silent. A wave of panic grips him and he tries to stand, only to find that his body will not listen; it is still as stone, as if rooted to the ground on which he sits. He struggles, trying to lift his arms, or turn his head, but nothing seems to work.  _

_ Instead, he is forced to watch as the world before him begins to change, time passing slow and steady. He sees figures sometimes, dancing in the mist that has slowly begun to invade the woods, but they leave as soon as they appear, and he is alone again.  _

_ It is achingly quiet here, until one day a large crash rattles the entire forest and he can see, out of his peripheral vision, the top half of his tree, lying bare on the ground; it looks bigger than he remembers. The storm that split such a mighty thing rages on, a gust of wind sweeping through the clearing. The force of it is enough to jostle him, the first he’s moved in what seems like an eternity, and his head lolls forward.  _

_ He is staring at his own legs, nothing more than brittle bones partially hidden beneath rusted armor.  _

_ He remains staring at them, unable to do much more, even as they begin to crumble, weeds sprouting in their cracks and forcing them apart. Pieces of him chip away as time continues to crawl forward, swept away on the passing breeze, and he sits, helpless but to watch as he fades.  _

_ The mist, ever growing, seeps into his vision, mixing with the dust that was once his legs and his arms and his body, and the eerie nothingness it brings is almost calming.  _

_ He is not calm. He is restless, pushing outwards against his crumbling prison, against the bones and armor and the vines that have invaded what was once his to call home; he rages against the walls of his once-body, intent on breaking through.  _

_ It is when his once-head finally falls, the last pieces of whatever made him even vaguely hylian breaking apart and scattering into the mist, that he is released; he pushes outwards, no longer limited, spread out over the forest ground and intermingling with the mist so that he is not him anymore, or anything, really.  _

_ It is free and flying fast apart from itself, growing thinner and thinner until the last bit of anything that made it anything ceases to be anything more than an afterthought.  _

* * *

Time jolts away with a choked cry, scrambling forward on his knees to be sick in a nearby shrub. He pulls away, shuddering, and wipes his mouth on the back of his arm. The mist retreats when he draws close, no longer intent, it seems, on taking him hostage. Time takes a deep breath, ignoring the fowl taste in his mouth, and sits back on his heels; the dream is already fading, though the anxiety it brought remains, and he counts each breath with the reverence of a King in his treasury. When he regains some semblance of control, he stands, pushing himself up on unsteady legs and turns to look back. 

The stump stands, lonely in the clearing, and Time leaves before he can dwell on it. 


	6. Time II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "May you find healing in the words of Hylia, may you find peace within her embrace. May you be strong in the face of her enemies, and may you be emboldened by her grace. May you never walk for fear of death, and know her words are true; I've sent a pair to guard the land, to destroy evils, old and new." 
> 
> \- Common blessing towards the West of Hyrule, often shortened to 'May you be emboldened by her grace."

He’s still lost, stumbling aimlessly like Warriors after a few pints, despite the fact that he’s painfully sober; the knowledge that this place is surely supernatural and probably intent on eventually killing him is making it so much more anxiety inducing. The mist is still avoiding him, which is an improvement, at least, but it still feels as though he’s been walking for days now and he isn’t sure how much longer he can keep going. 

“Please,” he says at one point, too tired to really care how small he sounds. “Just let me out of here.” 

For a moment, he feels something beside him - a hand touching his - and then he’s alone again; painfully and utterly alone. He growls, frustrated, and stomps over to the nearest tree, leaning his forehead against it and heaves a sigh. 

_ This is stupid,  _ he thinks, idly. Above him, lost in the grey void, he can hear leaves rustling. 

_ I agree. _

Time jolts, pulling away from the tree and spinning around. 

“...what?” 

There’s no response, but Time calls out again anyways. His mind whirls as his eye traces the outlines of mist-shrouded trees, searching for the source of the voice. 

A breath of air hits the back of his neck, soft and quiet, and he whips around, his hair standing on end; there is no one there. Time swallows, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword on instinct. 

_ Now, now… _

Time growls, turning towards the voice. 

_ There’s no need for that. _

It giggles and Time straightens up, confused. 

“What do you want?” He says quietly, to himself mostly; he’s surprised when a whispered choir of voices greet him, their words jumbled and smeared with laughter. Time searches desperately for a source, reaching out even, as if to catch someone who cannot be seen.

There’s no one but the wind, pushing at his back and buffeting his hair so that the beads and feathers of the snowquill headset bob playfully next to his ears; an image of Wild surfaces, the young hero traipsing through the forest on a wild hunt of sorts, and Time shifts on his feet, an odd feeling rising in his chest. 

_ It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? _

He wants to run. 

_ Run then. _

He wants to seek. 

_ Find me then. _

He wants to play. 

There’s laughter on the breeze, light like the wind chimes that Malon once hung outside their window, and Time finds himself hesitantly chuckling along. He takes a step forward, as if testing his own footing, and then he’s sprinting through the forest, the mist parting before him to form a path through the trees. 

Something grabs his hand, pulling him forward, and Time relents without a fight, laughing as he’s dragged through the undergrowth, almost tripping over his feet. 

In the back of his mind, he is aware; aware that this is strange. Aware that something has taken ahold of him, infiltrated whatever walls he has built up for so long, and torn them down like one would tear down a tapestry. 

He’s pulled past trees and bushes and brambles, the mist swirling and dancing around him; his vision blinks out once in a while, his body going on instinct, and when it returns, it seems as if everything is moving faster than before. The world blurs, bright and white, and then, like a sigh, everything slows, and then stops, and Time finds himself on the precipice of a path. 

There is light here, leaf-like lanterns swinging gently above him and illuminating the green grass at his feet. Time is still gasping for air, his senses returning, and he eyes the pathway before him warily. Behind him, the mist gathers, filling in the trees once more so that they become nothing more than shadows, and Time steps away, suddenly afraid again. 

The voices are gone, but a force still urges him forward. 

“Is this the way out,” he asks, voice barely a whisper. There is no response, but Time can feel the wind as his back again, sweeping across the grass at his feet and making the lanterns sway. He steels himself, breathing out through his nose. 

He cannot see the end of the pathway as it curves away into the trees. 

“Okay,” he says, louder this time. “I’m going now.” 

When he steps forward, into the light of the lantern, he swears he can almost see a flash of green; a figure, waiting for him at the bend in the path.

* * *

Time emerges into sunlight and for the first time, in what must be lifetimes, feels a sense of home so strong it almost sends him reeling. 

Instead he sags against a nearby tree, relief flooding through him with such a force that he doesn’t notice the little creature at his feet until it touches him. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin, a choked cry escaping his lips as the creature stumbles away, clearly just as surprised. They stare at each other, silent, and Time takes the moment to catch his racing breath and give the little thing a once over. It’s made of… wood? Something wood-adjacent, and wearing a mask in the shape of a leaf that covers its face. It reminds him, vaguely, of the masks that the kokiri would make for celebrations. 

The silence is broken when another creature appears, similar to the first, and toddles over to Time, the stick in its hand dragging behind it through the grass. Time stares down at it, unsure of what to do, as it turns to the other and cocks its head to the side. Time waits as they continue to share looks, a silent conversation passing between them, until he can take no more; it seems he is low on patience as of late. 

“Um,” he interrupts and both creatures startle at the sound of his voice, staggering back to look up at him. Time swallows and tries again. “... hello?” 

One of the creatures gasps, soft and airy, while the other takes a tentative step forward. It holds up its stick, as if offering it to Time, who, hesitantly, takes it. The creature watches him intently, before glancing back at its companion and nodding. 

“You can see us?” 

Time blinks, the stick slipping from his grasp; the voice, which seems very much to be coming from behind the creature’s mask, is familiar; it is  _ almost  _ the voice from the forest; bright and chiming, like water trickling over river stones. Time nods absently. The creature seems to like his response; it hops, twirling in the air as bubbling laughter escapes it. Its companion follows suit, flitting over to Time to land at his feet, pulling at his trousers gently. 

“No one has been able to see us in so long,” it chimes. 

“Only Link,” says the other, now waving it’s stick excitedly through the air. 

“Only Link,” it repeats and then it pulls on Time’s trousers again, urging him further into the clearing. Time lurches forward, following the two creatures as they lead him through the grove; out of the corner of his eye, he can see others, peeking out from behind trees and plants, hiding when he turns to look at them fully. 

His guides bring him to the center of the clearing, where a stone pedestal sits, moss creeping along its edges, before a giant tree. The pedestal is littered with small pink petals and, at its center, a small crevice is carved; Time gets a sinking feeling he knows what’s supposed to rest there. He breathes in deeply, trying to calm his nerves, which seem to have been returning since he entered this place. 

This place, that he still has no name for, despite it feeling so achingly familiar. Time has never been here, he knows that; still, the dappled sunlight coming through the canopy strikes a chord of nostalgia that he can’t seem to shake, and he forces himself to tear his gaze away from the pedestal to look around. It lands on a nearby figure; a creature, not unlike the rest, but taller than Time himself. It waves at him joyfully, the maracas in its hands making a cheery rattling. 

All around him, the forest here is bright with light and sound; laughter and music. He feels warm and safe and sad, all at the same time and, before he knows what’s happening, his cheeks grow wet. Time lifts a hand, wiping away tears that he had no intention of spilling. He shakes his head. 

“Where…” he starts, glancing at the surrounding creatures. “... where am I?” 

“Ahem.”

The voice startles him, deep and mellow and new. Time steps back as the scenery in front of him shifts, the bark of the giant tree warping and changing and then, with a chill that goes racing down his back, Time realizes that the bark is moving; a face, with lips and brows and a familiar knowing smile, looking down upon him. 

Time stands, stock still, staring up. 

In front of him, the Great Deku Tree smiles, as though there have not been countless lifetimes strewn between them.

“Ah,” he says, his voice the same as Time remembers. “It truly has been a long time, Link.”

* * *

Though he would never admit it, Link tried many times to return. 

He’d sat at the edge of the dark woods, willing himself to go in. Willing himself to take one step forward. Willing himself to remember the way. 

Each time he’d step away instead, knowing that faded memories would not be enough to guide him through the trees. He’d remember Grog, and Fado’s words. He’d remember the Deku Sprout’s story. 

He’d been young then. Or, at least, he’d looked it. Could maybe pass as a lost Kokiri, if only Navi were to return. 

But he’d already searched; already searched and saved a town and stopped a moon and turned back time so many times that he wasn’t quite sure how many years he’d actually accumulated. He’d been young and old and young again and lived so many days that when he’d finally returned, finally stood before the trees, he had known deep down that stepping forward would be a death sentence. 

He had hesitated; to stay in this world that did not remember him or to step forward and be truly and utterly forgotten. To wipe himself of this world that knew nothing of his trials and saw only what they wanted; a young and strange boy, lost and lonely and far too good with a sword to be anything normal. 

He’d tried to go back to Zelda once. Navi had flown away and he had gone to castle, hoping that at least the princess would remember him. 

She had smiled when she saw him and he had dared hope, but it was empty - a smile that a princess gives her subjects when they stand before her to complain, or to beg, or to simply bask in her presence. She’d been different; cheeks plump from a life without hardship, hands soft from having never held a sword. Or lyre. 

Link had stared and stared and then bowed, apologizing for taking up her time, and then he’d left, stumbling down the castle steps and out into the streets, panic and grief reducing him to nothing more than a shivering unstoppable force; he did not pause in his running until he was at the town gates, where he had doubled over in the dirt and kneeled there long enough for a guard to come over and see if he was alright. 

To remain in a world that knew nothing. That did not remember him. 

And so he’d hesitated at the boundary of the Lost Woods and then eventually left, too frightened by his own hesitation. He had rejoined Epona in the great fields, the only living thing that seemed to remember him for what he was, and had ridden off before anymore thoughts of returning and disappearing could surface. 

And it had stayed that way for years; true years this time, that he lived through and remembered. He had travelled and helped where he could, coming and going and leaving little traces of himself wherever he went. There were stories; tales of a boy clad in green, appearing in the nick of time to help someone in need, and then stories of a man clad in green, joining fights that weren’t his and saving all those involved. 

Whispers of a lost hero, like those in the old story books. 

He hadn’t known much of history then; hadn’t known about cycles and reincarnations and the goddess’ great plan. He’d known only that he’d saved the world and no one here remembered. He was a hero, but not really. 

It hurt. It hurt that he would go into towns and see them, the people he had met and talked to and learned about, and he’d have to introduce himself all over again, careful not to reveal all that he knew about their lives. It hurt that there was no recognition; no lighting up of their eyes when he approached, just a polite smile and wary look. He had stopped trying, at one point; stopped trying to make them remember, and had simply played the part of a traveler passing through town, looking for supplies and a place to stay. It wasn’t easy, but it was simple.

“Fairy boy?” 

He’d been in the market of Castle Town, intent on finding a new bridle for Epona, when the voice had caught him off guard, the nickname almost foriegn to him. He’d whipped around so fast he’d gone off balance, barely catching himself on the stall’s post; and, then, there she was, staring at him wide-eyed as she balanced a jug of milk in her one arm, the other reaching out as if to steady him.

They had stared at each other, each shocked in their own way, until she’d placed her milk down and drawn him into a bracing hug, laughing that ‘it’d been a long time’ and ‘wow, I didn’t even recognise you at first,’ and he had stood there, still as a statue until she’d pulled away, blushing. 

“Malon,” he had said, not a question, and she’d nodded and smiled and asked if that was really Epona there and if she could pet her and Link had just stood and smiled and nodded and, for the first time in a long time, felt real. Real enough that Malon, who did not know a world of hardship and who did not know that he’d saved her and the farm, remembered him. Remembered him and hugged him again and asked him if he had a place to stay and he felt so real that he had laughed, really truly laughed, and Malon had brought him home and he’d stayed; first in the barn, and then in the little room in the attic, and then in her bed, nose to nose so that they could speak quiet enough that Talon wouldn’t over hear. 

He had told her as much as he could. Told her as much as he could bare and then some; not everything, because how could he, but enough so that she’d stared at him and he’d told her it was okay if she didn’t believe him. She’d been quiet, and then she had laughed, smothering her face into his neck and telling him that ‘it was alright.’ 

“I always knew you were something different,” she had whispered. “Not bad. But different. Special.” He’d sat up, confused, but she had simply shrugged and said that it didn’t matter to her where he had come from or the things that he had done. “Just as long as you’ll stay,” she’d said, pulling him back down. 

“Malon-”

“Stay.” She kissed his brow, silencing him. “Work on the ranch.” She kissed his cheek. “Tend to the horses.” His other cheek. “Go to town and sell what you can.” His nose. “Just promise,” she whispered, pausing, and then she had kissed him, truly this time, before pulling away. “Promise that you’ll come back to me.” 

And he had. 

* * *

Link comes back and fall to his knees before the Great Deku Tree, a cry of anguish and disbelief caught in his throat so that he sits, slack jawed and utterly silent, the stone of the pedestal cold beneath him. The Great Deku Tree only chuckles, a sort of sad rumble that echoes through the chambers of Link’s body and nearly sends him sprawling across the ground. He wants to collapse; to break and crumble before the thing that was once his father. He feels like a child, teetering on the edge of a full blown meltdown, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“You’ve gotten tall,” the Great Deku Tree says and Link nods numbly. “I must say, I didn’t expect to see you here, my child.” 

At Link’s side, one of the little creatures from before taps his leg and he turns to see it is holding a small wooden cup of water, which it offers to him with a soft trill. He takes it and stares at its contents, the ripples in the water mimicking the unsteady beating of his heart. The Great Deku Tree sighs. 

“Link.” 

“I…” Link starts, and then stops to draw in a deep breath. “I don’t understand…” 

The Great Deku Tree hums. 

“Neither do I… not completely at least.” He pauses. “The Goddesses have many plans that I do not pretend to comprehend.” 

Link laughs at that, curling over and holding the cup close, aware that his laughter is quickly turning manic. There are tears in his eyes, free flowing now, and he lifts his head to look up at the Great Deku Tree. 

“Why?” He asks, voice thick with emotion. The Great Deku Tree shakes his branches, like a bird fluffing its feathers, and petals begin to fall. 

“Why were you brought here?” The tree asks. “Or why were you separated from the others?” 

Link swallows. 

“You know about them?”

“The Hero of the Wild has become a dear friend… he visits here often. And the Hero of the Wind, before him, helped me a great deal. I know many things.” The Great Deku Tree smiles. “Not everything mind you. But most. I’ve been around for quite a long time.”

Link waits. The Great Deku Tree relents. 

“I have been reborn many times, much like you, my friend. Though I am more or less the same being each time... As for the answers to your questions,” he pauses and then chuckles. “I’m afraid those fall outside my realm of knowledge.” 

Link scowls half heartedly, looking away. The Great Deku Tree sighs. 

“Do not fret, child,” he murmurs and Link huffs, the nickname tugging something in his heart that he long ago buried. The Great Deku Tree watches him, quiet, a frown adorning his features. When he finally speaks, it is softly and with so much feeling that Link has to close his eye. “You have been hurt gravely. You have been through much, and taken on more than you deserve to be burdened with.” 

Link does not open his eyes. 

“I will not pretend that none of the blame lies with me; I could have told you of your lineage sooner, or taught you of the heroes that came before.” Link can hear the Great Deku Tree sigh again. “I did not want you to be burdened with such knowledge at a young age… though it seems it did not matter in the end.” 

There is a small weight on his thigh and Link opens his eye to see another creature leaning against him, a comforting presence in the face of his grief. He reaches a hand out, placing it on the little thing’s head, and heaves a shuddering breath. His thoughts are swirling about his head like a great storm, but the sight of the creature seems to calm them just enough that Link can collect himself. He turns back to look at the Great Deku Tree, who smiles at him, noting the many creatures that are now stubbornly trying to sit in Link’s lap. 

“Koroks,” he says as an explanation. “They are the descendants of the kokiri, turned after the Great Flood.” 

Link isn’t quite sure how he feels about that statement, but he doesn’t have much time to question how a race of immortal children could possibly have descendants, before one of the creatures - koroks - in his lap pokes his chest, staring up at him. 

“You look tired,” it chimes and Link can’t help but smile softly. He nods. 

“A bit, yes.” 

“You should rest.” 

Link hesitates, glancing up at the Great Deku Tree. 

“I don’t have much time,” he says and purses his lips. “Do I?” 

“No,” the tree agrees. “There is a darkness spreading across the land. Not only this one, but across all, crossing through the boundaries of time so that it reaches all ends of this known world. You must reunite with the others if you are to stop it… so I’m afraid you do not have much time at all, child.” 

Link grimaces. 

“Seems to be a common theme.” He looks down, at the Koroks in his lap. “What is it exactly? This… darkness…?” 

“It is what you have pursued for many months now… it will bring great despair, should it succeed.” 

“Is this it? Will it be over if we… fix this?”

“I do not know.” 

Link nods, standing. The koroks in his lap protest to his movement and he chuckles lightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, detaching one from his tunic from where it has hung on stubbornly. It sighs as it is placed on the ground. 

“You are leaving again.” 

Link stares down at it, quiet, and tries to recognise it for something more than just a strange little being. It turns away after a moment, dejected. 

“I’ll come back,” Link says and glances up at the Great Deku Tree. “I will. I’ll have Wild bring me back.” 

The Great Deku Tree hums, a soft smile painting his features. 

“Do try.” 

Link straightens up, gripping the pommel of his sword. The Great Deku Tree looks towards the pathway leading out of the grove. 

“Leave that way. You will end up at the entrance of this shaded wood.” He chuckles, noticing Link’s questioning stare. “You need only walk forward, and you will be brought to where you need to be.” 

Link watches him for a moment, unsure of what to say. In the end, he turns away, silent, and makes his way to the edge of the grove; Koroks line his path, like the silent onlookers of a funeral procession, and he pauses at the beginning of the path. The warmth of the grove is already fading, the chill of the mist seeping into every bone in his body. 

Somewhere, out there, beyond the mist and the trees and the dark shadows, the others are waiting for him. 

Twilight and Wild and Wind and Warriors and Sky and Hyrule and Legend and Four and... 

Time steadies his breathing.

“Hero of Time!” 

Time turns. At his feet, the mist is beginning to curl and twist, wrapping itself around his trousers and beckoning him into the surrounding woods. The Great Deku Tree watches him with a solemn expression. 

“Do not give in to resentment.” Time raises an eyebrow, but the tree continues. “Do not forget that which made you.” 

They stare at each other, the words sitting in the silence that has formed between them, until Time turns away, the voices of the grove already fading as the mist continues to grow; the grass at his feet is greying, turning brittle and dry, and he finds himself rooted to the spot, unable to take even a single step. 

Link hesitates at the boundary of the Lost Woods. 

_ Come on then. Don’t keep them waiting. _

The voice beckons him again and then there’s a hand on his, lost to the whiteness of the fog; it tugs his arm, and muffled laughter forces his gaze up to look ahead, into the woods. He can almost see the path in front of him. 

Time moves forward. 


	7. Four I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've never understood why people desire to leave; to find some source of happiness that they cannot find here. But, then again, I found happiness the moment I met her, and she has always been a part of this place. We use to walk for hours, down paths we knew too well; there was nothing new to see, no adventures to be had, and I liked it. I liked not worrying about what would be around the corner; it made it easier to keep looking at her. 
> 
> So I never understood why she wanted to leave; she said she wanted to find something that couldn't be found here. Some people, I guess, are not made to remain in one place, and who was I to hold her back? 
> 
> So she went away, promising to write. She planned to return in the fall, during the harvest; she said we would buy a house. I saved my earnings and wrote her letters about home and how I missed her, and she responded with wild tales and stories and how she wished I was there to see them, too. I never told her that it didn't matter, that hearing her love for the world was enough.
> 
> She died when the war came. She was never brought home.  
I have never wanted to leave this place, but I can't stand to stay here now." 
> 
> \- Unknown Woman, Kakariko

“Oh…” Malon say quietly, and looks down at her mug, her cupped hands tightening around it. Four shifts in his seat, suddenly even more uncomfortable with the atmosphere of the room. Next to him, Legend squirms, his head ducked low over his own cup as if he wants to drown inside it, and Four winces when he finally speaks, his voice rough and choked. 

“I’m sorry,” Legend croaks, his head still bowed. “It’s my fault. He was trying to save me.” 

Four grimaces, reaching over to grasp Legend’s shoulder, though he doubts the action offers much comfort. Across from them, Malon closes her eyes, turning away to take in a shuddering breath; she bites her lip and blinks, composing herself, before turning back to them and reaching over to place her hand over Legend’s. Legend jerks, looking up with a face of confusion and grief, but Malon only smiles softly, squeezing his hand. 

“He makes his own decisions,” she says quietly and glances at Four, nodding to him. “It was nobody’s fault.” She purses her lips and then, much to Four’s surprise, rolls her eyes. “He’s an idiot, even if he doesn’t act like it… but he would have done that for any of you,” she looks to Legend. “Just like I know you all would do the same.” 

Legend nods, jerky, and Four follows suit before taking a sip from his mug; the milk is rich and warm and sweet and it’s a small comfort in the face of their current situation. Four wonders if this is what Time would have after a bad day; if this is what he would come home to; Malon handing him a mug and drawing him into her arms, willing away any bad thoughts or feelings. Four grimaces again, ducking his head. He can feel Malon’s gaze on him and he partly wishes she would just get angry, accuse them of not being able to help her husband, their friend. Instead, he hears her chair scrape against the wooden floors and the soft padding of her feet as she comes to stand beside him. She places a hand on his shoulder and, when he raises his head, instead of anger or resentment, she’s smiling, soft and kind and there’s a surprising amount of mischief in her eyes. 

“I think, if I’m being honest,” she says and looks at Legend, who is just as shocked as Four. “That your time might be better spent out looking for my husband and the others, than moping around here.” 

Four stares at her, his mouth open, and tries to think of a response. He wants to reassure her that they’ll do just that; that Time and the others are okay. That Twilight surely didn’t bleed out on that ledge and that Sky and Wind weren’t ripped apart by the storm, but it impossible with the stone of doubt and guilt weighing down on his chest. 

In the end, he’s saved from having to respond when there’s a large thump from upstairs. Four stands at the same time Legend jerks back and nearly falls out of his chair. Malon grins. 

“Well,” she says, her hands on her hips. “Looks like your friends are up just in time.” 

Legend makes to stand as well, but Four stops him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’ll go,” he says, choosing not to notice the redness around Legend’s eyes, or the slight shake of his hands. “Just sit and drink your milk.” 

Legend stares at him for a moment, before glancing at the stairs and Four can almost see the argument on his lips. Behind Legend, Malon rolls her eyes and then proceeds to force him back into his seat; she nods to Four, ignoring Legend’s quiet protests, and Four takes it as his queue to leave. 

Upstairs, Four creeps along the hallway until he reaches the guest room. He pointedly ignores the partially opened door to the next room over and the empty bed within and, instead, gently pushes into the guest room, holding his breath as he peeks inside. 

Warriors is laying on the ground, his arm thrown over his eyes, his face a mask of pain and annoyance. His side of the bed is undone, the covers pulled partially onto the floor with him. Four lets out his breath, pushing the door open fully. The noise is enough to get Warriors’ attention; he jumps, lifting his arm just enough to peer at Four and make a small, confused noise. Four blinks, a small grin forcing its way onto his face. 

“Hey.” 

Warriors groans, returning his arm to its position over his eyes, and turns away. On the far side of the bed, Hyrule remains asleep, unaware of the mess of the blankets that Warriors has created, a bandage still wrapped securely around his head. Four notes that his breathing seems steadier now, before kneeling down beside Warriors and rolling him back on his back, much to Warriors’ displeasure. 

“Nooooo…” he moans, trying weakly to bat Four’s hand away. “No no no no.” 

“Warriors, it’s- Warriors… Warriors, stop… Link. Link, it’s alright,” Four growls, holding Warrior’s hand down. It’s far easier than it should be. “You have a concussion. Just relax and hold still for me.” 

Warriors whimpers pitfully in response, finally relenting as Four pulls his arm down to check his eyes. Warriors winces as Four pulls his eyelids up one by one, whining something incoherent on his breath, but Four ignores him. 

“You’re getting better,” he says quietly, standing and reaching for one of the potions sitting on the bedside table. “You should be able to keep one of these down this time.” 

He helps Warriors sit up enough to drink from the vial; the other hero makes an aborted attempt to spit the potion out, before Four forces his mouth closed with a hand and he swallows it with a shudder. Four lets him lay back onto the floor after that; it shouldn’t take long for the potion to take effect and Four knows without a doubt that he won’t be able to get Warriors back into bed by himself. In the meantime, he checks on Hyrule instead.

Hyrule is still pale and quiet; Four hesitates, before lifting his bandage to check the gash on his forehead, which has stopped bleeding, much to his relief. After a moment of thinking, he grabs another vial and lets some of its contents drip onto the would, letting out another breath as he watches to sides of it begin to close. Hyrule winces in his sleep, but some of his color is already starting to return and Four places his bandage back with careful hands. 

On the floor, Warriors has turned over onto his stomach and has his head buried in his arms. Four walks over and nudges him with his foot, rolling his eyes when Warriors groans and mutters a muffled insult to him. 

“Are you awake now?” Four asks dryly, smirking when Warriors turns just enough to glare at him from beneath bedraggled bangs. 

“Unfortunately.” 

Four chuckles, bending down to help Warriors as he pushes himself up onto his knees, looking a bit queasy as he closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath. 

“Don’t get sick again,” Four mutters, patting Warriors back. “Or at least do it in a trashcan this time and not on my trousers.” 

Warriors shoots him an apologetic look, before casting his gaze around the room, his eyebrows pinching together as he takes in his surroundings. 

“Where are we?” 

“Malon and Time’s ranch.” 

Warriors blinks, confusing settling even heavier over his features and he stares at Four as if he’s suddenly grown another head. 

“Malon…” he murmurs and then his eyes grow impossibly wide and he’s staggering to his feet, Four stumbling forward to help him. “The mountain,” he exclaims, grabbing ahold of a nearby dresser to steady himself. “We were on the mountain and Twilight fell and then Legend and Hyrule and-” 

“Easy, easy,” Four cuts him off, placing a hand on his back. “Legend’s alright - he’s downstairs now with Malon. And Hyrule is over there on the bed.” He nods in their sleeping friend’s direction. Warriors pads unsteadily over to the bed, almost tripping on the blankets strewn across the floor as he does, and sits down Hyrule on the mattress, his hand hovering above the bandages. He turns to Four. 

“Is he alright?” 

Four shrugs, then nods. 

“He will be.” 

Warriors nods, quiet; he stares down at the bedspread, as if tracing it’s patterns of horses and cows with is eyes, before he brings hand to his forehead and shakes his head. 

“What happened,” he asks, peering at Four through his fingers. “I remember… I remember the storm and a… a dragon?” 

Four nods and motions for Warriors to continue. 

“What else?” 

“Legend… Legend got caught and Time and Hyrule… and then Twilight was…” He trails off, eyes shut tight, and Four takes pity on him, sitting down beside him on the bed. Warriors blinks his eyes open and stares at him. Four bites his lip. 

“Time and Legend and Hyrule got tossed into the storm when the dragon…” he makes a sort of waving motion with his hands and Warriors nods, pain evident on his face. “And then we all…” Four lets his hands drop into his lap, unsure of what to say. Warriors gulps and stares down at his own hands. 

“I was holding onto Sky,” he whispers and then clenches his fists. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t hold on to him and he… he and Wind…” He gasps, broken, and bows his head, hands coming up to hold his face. Four looks away, suddenly unsure of what to do with this new side of Warriors; something small and shivering and stranded. He sighs. 

“We landed in a field,” he says to fill the silence. “You were... well. Not good.” He shrugs, not looking up to see if Warriors is even paying attention. “I basically dragged you around for a while until…” He pauses, remembering. “Legend was there. I didn’t even recognise him at first - he was so frantic and wild and I thought he’d gone absolutely mad.” He chuckles, but there isn’t any mirth. “He had Hyrule on his back and... together... we ended up finding the ranch and Malon and… well. Here we are.” 

He falls quiet again, until there’s a pressure on his side and he turns to find Warriors leaning against him, eyes closed. 

“Thank you,” Warriors murmurs. Four shrugs. 

“Of course.” 

They sit together, with only the sound of Hyrule’s steady breathing behind them, until there’s footsteps coming up the stairs and into the hallways and then Legend appears in the doorway, looking marginally better than before. His shoulders sag with relief when he lays eyes on Warriors and he’s across the room in a matter of seconds, throwing his arms around a very surprised Warriors and holding tight. 

“Thank Hylia,” he mutters, and Four almost laughs at Warriors’ expression as he grips Legend back. Legend pulls back after a moment, his lips pursed. 

“You look like shit,” he says finally and Warriors huffs, blowing air through the bangs that have fallen in front of his face. 

“Thanks.” 

Legend smirks, though it’s softer than usual, and turns to Four. 

“Malon’s getting dinner ready.” He glances at Hyrule, eyes narrowing. “Think he’ll be up in time?” 

Four shrugs. 

“Even if he is, I doubt he’ll feel well enough to eat.” 

Warriors nods in agreement, reaching behind himself to adjust Hyrule’s covers. Four sighs. 

“I’ll eat up here - keep an eye on him,” he says. Both Warriors and Legend look like they’re about to protest and he holds up a hand to silence them. “You guys stay with Malon. She’ll need the company, I think.” 

Legend looks guilty at that and Four feels a moment of regret at his words; Warriors looks between the two of them, confusion giving way to pity as he seems to catch on. He reaches up to give Legend a pat on the shoulder, to which the other is initially grateful, before he steps away, his nose wrinkled. 

“Forget dinner,” Legend grits out, his hand coming up to block Warriors’ advances. “Take a bath first - you smell like the back end of a horse.” 

Warriors makes an afronted noise, a hand on his chest, and Four can’t help but chuckle; it turns into a true laugh when Warriors turns to him with a look of betrayal. 

“Alright, alright,” Fou says when his laughter finally subsides. “Let’s go get some food.”

* * *

It’s quiet in the bedroom without Legend or Warriors; Four can hear them downstairs, chatting with Malon, who seems to be in higher spirits, and the faint sound of their voices is comforting against the sort of chill that’s settled over his body. He sets aside his empty bowl and sighs. Beside him, on the bed, Hyrule shifts in his sleep.

Four waits, watching for any other signs of waking, but Hyrule only breathes out softly and continues sleeping. Four huffs, leaning back on his hands, and stares at the ceiling, tracing the grain of the wood beams with his eyes, trying to quell the apprehension building his chest; it reminds him of how he felt before they climbed that fated mountain. 

The memory of it gives him pause, sending a shiver through his frame. He closes his eyes and tries not to think about snow and storms and dragons. He scowls. 

Of course  _ Wild’s _ world would have dragons. 

The thought of Wild brings him out of the haze of memories and he’s forced to confront the fact that’s been lurking in the back of his mind since he woke up in Time’s Hyrule; he doesn’t know where the others are. He figures, going off of what happened to him, Legend, Warriors, and Hyrule, that they’re scattered across Hyrule. Hyrules. Multiple Hyrules. 

Four grimaces. He still has trouble wrapping his mind around the whole ‘multiple Heroes and their Hyrules existing at once’ thing. 

Ironic, all things considered. 

Four sits up again, stretching his arms up over his head. They need a plan. 

He ends up rummaging through the bedside table and then the dresser, looking for something to write with, but comes up empty. He grimaces, thinking of his bags that were lost during his little trip through time and space; they’ll have to get supplies first for sure. 

_ Okay, so supplies.  _ He begins a mental checklist, pacing back and forth across the room.  _ It’s most likely that the others aren’t in this Hyrule, so we’ll need to find a way to cross between them. _

He flashes to Mt. Lanayru and the dragon; to the black blood and the great storm. This wasn’t like their normal jumps between Hyrules; this was chaotic and sudden, and the fact that they aren’t all here together is what really sets it all apart. 

Their best bet is to find another storm, like the one from Wild’s Hyrule, or an event of similar caliber. He wonders if, maybe, a mountain could be a good starting place. 

Four pauses, looking towards the door. He’ll need to ask Malon for a map later. 

He’s about to start pacing again, when Hyrule groans from his place on the bed. Four is by his side in an instant, a hand on Hyrule’s chest to keep him down in case he decides to try and sit up. Hryule grimaces, then blinks, wincing at the light in the room. His eyes are glazed as he stares at Four, dazed confusion evident on his features. Four waits. 

“Umm…” Hyrule hums, smacking his lips together, squinting at Four. “Did… yousplitup…?” 

His words are so slurred that Four has to lean in to hear him better. 

“What?”

Hyrule scowls, blinking again as if trying to clear his vision. 

“Why’dja ssssssplit up… isss th’re m’nsters...?” 

Four raises an eyebrow. He’s grateful that Legend and Warriors aren’t here.

“I didn’t split up, ‘Rule. It’s just me.” 

“Noooo,” Hyrule says, a sloppy smile stretching across his face. “There’s m’re of youuuuu…” He pauses, eyebrows drawing together and Four can see him silently counting under his breath. Hyrule pouts and weakly waves his hand in front of Four’s face. “Why’s th’r only two of you…?” 

He sounds almost betrayed and Four rolls his eyes, catching Hyrule’s hand and placing it down on the bed. 

“You’re seeing double,” he says, lifting Hyrule’s bandage to check his almost healed wound. “You’ve lost a lot of blood… and you probably have a concussion.” 

Hyrule pouts again. 

“ _ You _ ‘ave a concusssss.” He trails off, apparently unable to pronounce the word, and instead tries to turn away from Four’s prying hands, whining when Four tries to give him a potion. 

“Hyrule,” Four grits out, trying to hold the other’s hands down. “Hyrule you need to take this and get better, otherwise you’ll be spouting all sorts of stuff to Legend and Warriors when they come up here.”

“Mmlike wha,” Hyrule slurs, still fighting Four’s hands. 

“Like the fact that I can become four different people.” 

Hyrule gasps at that, hands falling back as he turns to Four with a comically serious face. 

“Shhhhh, you can’t sssay tha’ out loud… isa seeecret!” 

Four uses the moment to shove the vial in Hyrule’s mouth. The potion goes down relatively easy despite Hyrule’s efforts and after a moment he calms, blinking in confusion as his concussion starts to fade and color returns to his cheeks, much to Four’s relief. 

“... Four?” 

Four laughs, reaching over to grip Hyrule’s shoulder. 

“Welcome back, ‘Rule.” 

Hyrule gives him a wobbly smile, accepting Four’s help to sit up in bed. His hand comes up to lightly touch his bandage, fingers running over the wrappings, before he turns, searching Four’s face.

“Wha-”

“Hyrule!” 

Legend’s voice cuts off Hyrule’s question and Four turns to see him and Warriors in the doorway, Malon standing behind them looking concerned. Both of them run into the room, Legend practically launching himself onto the bed, and begin to bombard Hyrule with questions. Four steps back, the sudden noise more than jarring, and finds Malon beside him with a relieved smile. 

“Thank Hylia,” she says quietly, turning to Four. “Seems like you’re all alright then.”

Four nods, still watching as Legend fusses over Hyrule and Warriors tries to get him to drink another potion. Hyrule keeps glancing at Four, a clear look of ‘help me’ painting his features, but Four just smiles and lets Legend and Warriors worry away. 

The conversation soon delves into a retelling of their predicament and Four finally chimes in, explaining along with Legend about where they are and how they ended up at Malon’s house. 

“I don’t remember much other than that,” Four admits, shrugging. Legend nods in agreement. 

“I remember falling and then…” He waves his hands through the air. “I woke up here, on the ground with you.” 

“Same,” Warriors says, sitting back on the bed. “I just remember the mountain crumbling and the storm.” 

Hyrule doesn’t respond; he stares thoughtfully at the blanket beneath his fingertips, playing with a fraying seam. Four watches him for a moment, before turning to the others. 

“We need supplies, but then I think we should start looking for the others.” He turns to Malon. “You wouldn’t happen to have a map we could borrow?” 

“Wait,” Legend cuts in. “They’re not going to be in this Hyrule - why would we need a map?” 

“I think,” Four says, staring up at the ceiling. “That our best bet is to go to a mountain. Or maybe a spring. Some place similar to the one on Mt. Lanayru.” 

“Why?” 

“To look for whatever brought us here,” Four responds and stands, his hands on his hips. “I’m not quite sure what it is we’ll need to find though, but I figure we should start there. Maybe look for places with a strange storm or something.” 

Warriors hums, bringing a hand to his chin. 

“Perhaps it was a portal of sorts,” he says and, beside him, Hyrule looks up, a soft ‘oh’ escaping him. 

“I know what we’re looking for.”

The room grows silent as Four and the others turn to look at him. Hyrule shrinks a bit under the sudden attention, a blush rising to his cheeks. Legend leans in. 

“What do you mean?”

“I remember,” Hyrule says quietly, looking back down at the blanket. His thumb runs over a stitched horse. “I remember jumping, and grabbing ahold of you...” He pauses, glancing at Malon. “And I remember falling and not being able to hold on and then…” 

Four stares. Hyrule’s knuckles are white as he grips the blanket tighter, his eyes shut. 

“It was like a giant black rift,” he whispers. “Like the goddess herself had taken a giant sword and cut the whole world in two, and then...” 

He pauses, taking in a breath and loosening his grip on the blanket. Four almost reaches for him, intending to take ahold of his hand, but then Hyrule looks up, and it feels as though his gaze is burning through Four’s very being. 

“And then…?” Four asks, suddenly afraid. 

Hyrule stares at him, unblinking.

“And then it swallowed us.”


	8. Four II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dear Arya,
> 
> I have seen things I could have never imagined to have existed; sights so beautiful I could not stop crying at in their presence. I have seen castles and temples and the remnants of old gods. 
> 
> They all pale in the comparison to you. 
> 
> I wish you were here with me, though I know you are not one for grand adventures. Perhaps, when I return, we will buy a house and I will build a library for all the books I've collected - that way, you may travel all the places of this land, and never leave the comfort of our village. 
> 
> I miss you. I hope to return come the autumn harvest; I long for the fields of home, though the fields I've found out here are grand as well. 
> 
> Say hello to the horses for me, and give Liad some meat from the table in my absence. My heart reaches for you, even when we are so far from one another. They say there is a darkness on the horizon, but the only darkness I care for is that of your bedroom on the quietest of nights; never before have I felt so safe. 
> 
> Soon. 
> 
> Forever yours, 
> 
> Mira"
> 
> \- Letter found in the Archives of Kakariko village.

Malon stays. 

The four heroes leave, taking the food she gives them and the jugs of milk she forces into their arms and the blankets she stuffs into the saddle bags of the horses she leads from the stable.

“We can’t-” Warriors tries. 

“You will,” she says and hands him the reins of one of the horses, before doing the same to the other heroes. After that, she doesn’t say much more. She smiles. She wishes them well, and then she stays and watches as they disappear beyond a distant hill, their called promises fading as they do. 

She stays, standing on the edge of the ranch property, gripping the worn sign post, until the sun sits low in the sky. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Epona watching her from the field, the grey around her eyes scrunching spectacularly as she scrutinizes Malon, before returning to her grazing; she knows more than Malon could ever tell her aloud and the fact of it forces Malon to finally turn and return the stable. 

It is empty now, so she simply closes it up and makes her way to cucco pen. She goes through the motions of feeding them, watching as they fight amongst themselves, before making her way to the house. 

The cows are out, settled up on a distant hill.

The sow is in her pen, her piglets tucked against her.

Epona is in the field, watching her. 

Malon hesitates at the door. 

The light is still flickering in the kitchen, but it sparks no false hope within her. Her father is in town and will not return until all their goods are sold, and Ingo did not come back, disappearing somewhere into the rest of Hyrule.

The house is empty.

Link will not be there.

Malon stays, long enough for the light in the kitchen to go out and for the chill of the night to press against her back and nip at her bare hands as they stay clutching the door handle; the ring on her finger looks dull in the dark. 

Malon stays; she makes her way inside and stays in the doorway of the kitchen. She climbs the old stairs and stays looking in the washroom mirror. She strips herself of dirty clothes and stays bare and shivering in the darkness of the bedroom. She lays in the empty bed and stays wide awake, careful not to move from her side. 

She stays on the ranch and cares for the cows and the horses and the heroes that arrive at her doorstep, battered and broken and needing more than just a sword and a goddess given mission. 

She stays and remains where she is, caring for what she loves, loving the home she’s made and the people it shelters, loving the life she has created and stayed for. 

She stays and she wishes, ever so desperately, that everyone around her could learn to stay as well. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Four tries desperately to act as if he knows how to ride a horse.

The mare beneath him is mild tempered and accommodating, but it does nothing to make up for the fact that Four has only ever been a passenger and never the one at the reins; he adjusts his grip ever so slightly, gritting his teeth when his steed shakes her head. None of the others seem to notice, which he’s thankful for; he’s seen the way Warriors had laughed at Wind the first time the younger had tried to ride and he’s not keen on being at the receiving end of such jest. Instead, he focuses on the point right above his horse’s ears and tries to steady his breathing. 

Warriors leads them along, poised and confident in his saddle as he gestures to the world around them. 

“That peak seems like a good place to start,” he calls and Hyrule hums somewhere off to Four’s right, his nose buried in the map that Malon had given them. 

“Death Mountain,” he responds, looking up. He bites his lip. “That’s what the map is calling it anyways.” 

Legend huffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Sounds pleasant.” 

“It’s a volcano,” Hyrule supplies, tilting his map to show the others. Four glances back at the mountain; aside from the black smoke rising from its depths, the skies above it are clear and blue. No storms gather at its peak. Four grimaces. 

There is nothing; no feeling of apprehension when he looks at it. No chills of forewarning racing up his back. His body does not scream for him to turn back when he gazes at the distant peak and, somehow, he knows that they will find nothing of importance should they go there. 

“So we’ll go there and fight whatever we find and then demand it open a portal or something?” Legend is saying when Four’s focus finally comes back to the group. 

“Maybe a portal will already be there,” Warriors says and shrugs. 

“Well then let’s get moving - the sooner we get there, the sooner we can find the others,” Legend says quickly, urging his horse forward so that he’s side by side with Warriors.

Hyrule hums, back to studying the map. 

“I mean, if it’s anything like Mt. Lanayru, it’ll be a pretty hard trek - probably high winds, storms, and-”

“That’s not it.” 

Hyrule turns to look at Four, his mouth still open to speak. In front of them, Warriors and Legend turn in their saddles. Warriors raises an eyebrow at Four. 

“What?” 

Four shakes his head, nodding to the mountain. 

“That’s not where we need to go.” He bites the inside of his cheek, thinking. “Look; there’s no storm. Not even any eruptions.” 

“So?” Legend asks.

“So, it’s not the right place.” Four shifts uneasily in his saddle. “Listen, I don’t know why, but I just… know.” 

Legend snorts, shaking his head with his eyes closed. 

“Oh please, don’t be pulling that ‘hero bullshit’ now.” He opens his eyes and glances at Four with a raised brow. “‘ _ It’s just a feeling, guys!’  _ C’mon Four, we don’t have time for that.”

Four rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, fuck off; like you haven’t had a ‘hero’ moment before.” 

“Hey, guys,” Hyrule breaks in just as Legend opens his mouth to retort. “Not to, uh, take sides or anything… but I’m also not sure that we should go to the mountain. Four’s right; there’s nothing to suggest that that’s the right place…” 

Four can hear Legend make a sort of ‘guffaw’ sound, but he’s too busy nodding to Hyrule to care. 

“Hey, Warriors, don’t you think-” Legend starts, but Warriors only shrugs. 

“Sorry, but I think I’m gonna have to go with Four and Hyrule on this one.” He grimaces. “It’d be a waste of time to check it out at this point.” 

Legend stares at him for a moment, before sneering and growling something under his breath. He turns away, eyes trained securely in front of him, and Four tries not to get annoyed. Hyrule gives him a sidelong stare, his mouth drawn into a thin line, but Four only shrugs; he’s not about to try and delve into whatever is pissing Legend off. Instead, the four of them continue for another hour, debating which way to go, until Warriors finally decides they should just camp for the night and decide in the morning. 

Legend stalks off almost immediately, the excuse of finding firewood slipping from his tongue like blood off a blade, and Four resigns himself to just having to deal with an irritated Legend for the rest of the night. The rest of them make quick work of the camp, setting up the blankets Malon had forced upon them and tying the horses to a few nearby trees; before they sit and wait for Legend’s return. There’s little conversation; Hyrule tries, at one point, to talk about their next plans, but neither Warriors nor Four have the energy to respond with much more than a few shrugs. 

There’s a heaviness weighing on Four’s shoulders that he’s been ignoring for sometime now and the quiet of the night is forcing him to confront it; fear sits heavy in his stomach, filling it enough that he feels quietly sick at the thought of eating whatever rations they have in their saddlebags.

He doesn’t know what to do, he realizes, staring down at his worn palms; he wishes he had something to work on. Something to craft or carve. Anything to stop the shaking that has overtaken his hands; it doesn’t stop, not even when he stuffs his hands into his armpits and takes deep breaths. 

He can see Warriors out of the corner of his eye, hunched over on the ground, eyes blank as he stares forlornly into the surrounding dark. Hyrule isn’t much better, head tilted back to face the sky, his knees drawn up to his chest. 

Four chews his lip and tries to think of something to say; anything to break the mood. 

He ponders, briefly, of just splitting up and letting that little secret out, if only to get a change of pace from whatever depression the group seems to be snowballing into. 

But Hyrule already knows and Legend isn’t even back yet, so the only one who’d be finding out is Warriors. Not much of a surprise and certainly not how he wants it to go down. 

_ It’s going to go down eventually. _ He thinks quietly. Just like how one day he or Wild or Time will slip up and Twilight’s going to have to come forward with his own secrets. 

_ If we ever find them.  _

Four blinks and the fear washes over him anew. Guilt comes along as a passenger, bringing the image of Malon’s face to the surface, and he has to close his eyes and shake his head to keep himself steady. 

By the time Legend returns with firewood, he’s managed to regain some semblance of control. The fire is made and food is passed around, each of them silent as they sit. Legend parks himself at the very edge of the firelight’s reach, curling up on his bedroll with a huff, an untouched apple clenched tightly in his fist. 

“I’ll take first watch,” Hyrule mumbles at one point as they douse the fire, before making his way over to nearby boulder and perching himself on top; Four is too worn to argue, nodding along with Warriors before making his way over to his own bedroll. He flops down with a sigh, burying his head into his arms, and tries to sleep. 

It’s a long while before he actually does and he knows, if the sounds of their breathing are anything to go by, that the others are having a hard time as well. 

* * *

Four emerges from a fitful sleep to Hyrule shaking him awake for next watch. The other hero looks rather apologetic, but Four can see the bags under his eyes and nudges him toward his bedroll. Hyrule nods his thanks, flopping down without the slightest bit of grace. He’s snoring within seconds. Four allows himself a small smile, before going over to the edge of their camp where the boulder sits. 

The night is still and quiet; Four shivers, pulling his hood up, and tries to focus on the world around him instead of the thoughts he’s got locked up in the back of his mind. He needs time to sort through those, but the night is unwelcoming in that respect, so he studies the stars and tries to decide if the constellations here are the same from his own time. 

A memory of Wild floats to the surface; the two of them, taking watch together somewhere in the wilderness of Legend’s Hyrule. Wild had, reluctantly at first in the face of Four’s questioning look, pointed out each of the constellations, mentioning how they were the same back in his own Hyrule, if maybe positioned a bit differently. 

“I had to study them once, to open a shrine,” he’d said, leaning back on his hands. 

“Do they have stories?” Four had asked, but Wild had only shaken his head and shrugged. 

“I don’t know… don’t remember. Might have known once, but now...” 

“What about their names?” 

Wild had only pursed his lips, before giving Four a sidelong smile; it wasn’t happy, per say. Resigned, more than anything. Four had nodded, understanding, and they had fallen into a silence that didn’t necessarily need to be broken. 

Four had never been good at star-study. Ezlo had tried to teach him once as they sat together on the roof of the inn, telling him stories of the stars he refused to remember the names of. Four had closed his eyes at the memory, the face of his friend fresh in his mind, and racked his brain. 

“I think there’s one about a Fairy,” he’d finally said, jolting Wild out of whatever thoughts had captured his attention. Wild had only raised an eyebrow, confused, until Four had clarified. “A constellation… there’s one thats a Fairy… a Great Fairy.” He’d looked back at the sky, studying the spattering of white against its dark surface, before pointing to an array of stars sitting low above the treeline. It was such bullshit, but... “There. That’s… a fairy…” 

Wild been dangerously quiet, and then he had laughed; truly laughed, muffling his voice with his cloak, before returning his gaze to the sky. He’d fallen silent and Four had resigned himself to that being the end of the conversation, until Wild had pointed silently at another cluster of stars. 

“That one is… a dragon.” 

“Bullshit… it’s clearly a rearing horse.” 

“Okay, then that one over there’s a man riding a bear.” 

“What? Okay, okay, fine, then… that one right there is the dragon, obviously.” 

They’d gone back and forth, making up names and stories, until Twilight had finally walked over and told them they were supposed to be on watch. Wild had pulled him down to the ground to sit, nearly causing Twilight to fall into his lap, and half threatened to reveal his wolfish secret if he kept being such a spoilsport; the three of them had ended up spending the rest of their watch laughing and joking and generally ignoring their watch duties until Time had finally taken over and forced them all to bed.

Four stares at the stars now and tries not to think about Time disappearing into the storm, or the rocks that fell down over Wild, or the blood beneath Twilight. He tries not to think about Sky slipping from Warriors’ grasp, or Wind being plunged into the darkness, or the cliff face crumbling beneath his feet.

There's wetness on his cheeks that is unexpected and sudden and he wonders, for a moment, when it had started raining, until he realizes that the skies above him are still clear enough to see the constellations in all their glory. He brings a hand to his face, bewilderment overriding any other emotions, and he traces the tear tracks with a finger. He can’t remember the last time he cried. 

He doesn’t break down. He doesn’t sob. Instead, he sits in a sort of silent wonder with silent tears and tries to remember when he’d started to care so  _ so _ deeply about the others. He sniffles, dragging his sleeve across his nose, and tries not to feel as incredibly lonely as he does. 

(He remembers, vaguely, that a part of him had once said that he would never be lonely again. He doesn’t remember which part. It was a long time ago. It was at the beginning.)

Behind him, Warriors sighs in his sleep and Four can hear him turn over on his bedroll. There’s a sudden urge to split then; to have more than just him as he is now, even if it’s all him in the end anyways. He could talk it out. Think it through. 

Four spares a glance at the others; Legend is sleeping on his side, facing away from him, while Warriors is curled up in a ball on the other side of the camp. Hyrule is face down in his bedroll, his blanket barely covering his form; he knows all about Four’s secret, but it’s somehow still comforting that he’s not likely to wake up soon anyways. Four feels suddenly vulnerable, childish even. He doesn’t want anyone else to see. 

Four watches the others, waiting for any sign of wakefulness, before he slides down the other side of the rock and presses his back against its surface, counting his breaths. Maybe this will pass. Maybe he doesn’t need to. He closes his eyes. 

When he opens them again, the world is still blurry and his breaths aren’t any calmer. 

He reaches for the Four Sword, pulling it silently from its sheath, and holding it in front of him. He glances back, once more, at the others. 

_ It’ll be easier to keep watch this way, _ he tells himself.  _ That’s all this is. _

The change is always weird. He feels it first in his body, like suddenly there’s more of him to go around; more hands to feel with, more feet to walk with. It only lasts a second though, because then his mind starts to split as well. It’s like spinning too much and then stopping too fast; he feels light and then dizzy, like his entire mind is trapped in a balloon just ready to pop, and then - 

The four of them blink their eyes open, staring at each other in the dark. 

Red moves first, a mess of tears and shivers, pressing into Blue’s side, who reluctantly pulls the other close. Green follows, pulling Vio along, and then they are huddled together, their backs pressed against the face of the rock. 

They say nothing to each other, quiet in contemplation and, eventually, each comes to the realization that there is nothing new to be said between them. 

* * *

Legend lies on his side and pretends not to see the glow of magic from behind the boulder, reflected against the surrounding trees. 

He pretends that he doesn’t know Four is hiding something. 

He pretends like he doesn’t know that it’s his fault that Time is probably buried somewhere under five feet of snow. 

He pretends that they aren’t running out of time to find a portal and get to the others. 

He pretends and he does not turn over and he does not go to sleep and he tries, desperately, to convince himself that everything is going to be okay in the end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to say how grateful I am for all of the support I get from everyone (both on here and tumblr) and I can confidently say I that I have gone through and reread pretty much every comment left on this story multiple times because sometimes I just can't believe that such wonderful people like you guys exist out there. You're all so so so kind and lovely and gracious and I hope that the rest of this story (and any more after that) lives up to what you guys deserve. :>


	9. Wild I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I once had a young boy ask me if I felt lonely; I told him 'of course' that 'everyone feels lonely sometimes.' It was only then that I looked upon his face, for I had been nose deep in a tome earlier, and saw that his eyes were wide with tears. Kneeling, I placed my hands over his cheeks, plump with youth, and asked him what the matter was. He began to cry with earnest, pushing forward to enfold himself within my embrace as he lamented that he friends had all gone away, that they no longer cared to play with him. 
> 
> I assured him that his friends were probably just busy - it was Spring, you see, so many of the villagers were now occupied with their farms and the sowing season, with most of their children having been recruited to help with the smaller chores. He seemed to calm down enough that I could send him on his way, with a note to his mother to make him a good dinner and perhaps regale him with some bedtime stories. 
> 
> Even as he left, though, I was struck by his despair and I began to think on the pain of loneliness and loss. How could a child, so young and new, be so keen to anguish that comes when someone leaves?" 
> 
> \- Passage from the Journal of Kramini Lo, school teacher and librarian.

_ “You’re back.” _

_ Silence.  _

_ Link nods. Wolves don’t talk, and The Wolf is no exception. Instead Link’s sort-of-companion sits silently nearby, watching as Link packs up his supplies and douses his fire.  _

_ The Wolf has been gone for a few days, disappearing off into the world as wolves do, but Link doesn’t worry. The Wolf always comes back.  _

_ “I’m going to fight him soon,” Link says and The Wolf huffs. It understands; Link knows it does. It’s different like that. Regular wolves don’t just follow you around for no reason. They don’t approach you on the battlefield after saving you from a moblin horde. They don’t lay beside your fire all night.  _

_ Link reaches out a hand and The Wolf leans into the touch, its tail wagging gently. _

_ The Wolf is a gift, perhaps. A blessing from Hylia, maybe. Someone to keep him company on the journey; a guide and teacher. He remembers once when he was practicing, swinging his sword at a tree, a growl had interrupted him and he’d turned to find, not a monster, but The Wolf, staring at him intensely.  _

_ A wet nose had pushed at his leg until he moved it, adjusting his weight and oh, yes, that felt much more balanced now, didn’t it?  _

_ It happened again and again, each time The Wolf stepping in to adjust his stance or the angle of his arm until he got it right. It reminds him, somewhere deep within the recesses of his own misted mind, of training.  _

_ Sometimes, on the nights when The Wolf remains, curled up beside him by their little campfire, Link plays a game.  _

_ “A soldier?” He asks, but The Wolf only opens one eye and stares at him. Link pouts. “Hm… an assassin?”  _

_ The Wolf growls. Link laughs.  _

_ “Alright, alright. Sorry. Uh... mercenary?”  _

_ The Wolf growls again and stands, pushing Link off of him. Link scrambles, laughing, and swats at his companion.  _

_ “Hey, hey, I’m sorry ok!” He shrugs, grinning softly at The Wolf, who is sitting a ways away, glaring at him with comically squinted eyes.  _

_ He can talk to The Wolf; actually talk and chat the way he longs to with the people of this land. The Wolf doesn’t stare at his scars or shuffle awkwardly when his voice fails him; The Wolf simply remains, loyal and constant. Link gestures to it.  _

_ “You must have been something cool, right?”  _

_ The Wolf sighs, lifting a leg to scratch behind its ear. Link waits for it to finish, before speaking again. _

_ “So what were you? Not a soldier. And definitely not a mercenary,” he says, grinning. The Wolf turns to lick its shoulder, pointedly ignoring Link’s questions. _

_ Link watches, amused, until a new thought blooms into existence.  _

_ “… Did you die?”  _

_ The animal stops midway through its cleaning and suddenly the air inside their tiny cave is stale and still. Finally, The Wolf turns its head to look him in the eyes, but does nothing more.  _

_ “Sorry,” Link says, after a moment, looking away. “Is death a sore subject for you as well?”  _

_ The Wolf flicks an ear and huffs. Link hesitates, then nods.  _

_ “...I died,” he murmurs, voice suddenly strained, and drops his head to stare at the ground beneath him. The Wolf does not seem surprised at his confession. Link doesn’t know if he expected it to be. He swallows, laying back against the cold stone. “It was a long time ago. I don’t remember much of it…” He lifts his hand, staring at the way the firelight catches on the rough scars that wrap around his wrist and rake across his palm. He makes a fist, grimacing as he watches the skin stretch and pull, like the weathered leather of his boots; The Wolf is watching him, blue eyes rivaling the flames.  _

_ Link sighs, turning onto his side to face the entrance to the cave.  _

_ “I was a soldier once, too… before I died. That’s what Impa told me, at least.” He smiles a bit. “She’s this old woman I met a little while ago. Says she knew me ‘before.’”  _

_ The Wolf whines. Link huffs out a laugh.  _

_ “I know, right? She’s... incredibly old.” _

_ They fall into silence, the crackle of the fire the only noise between them. Outside of their small shelter, crickets chirp in an endless choir of song and dance. Link can see fireflies rising up over the meadow grass; he could go collect some if he wanted. Perhaps upgrade some armor. Instead, he sits and reaches, palm up, towards The Wolf. His companion shuffles forward, resting its muzzle in Link’s hand. _

_ Beyond the meadow and the forest, peeking out from above the treetops, Link can see the castle, its dark towers trapped within swirling tendrils of smoke that are darker than the night sky. Link suppresses a shudder, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly along The Wolf’s lower jaw. The Wolf remains quiet, eyes lidded as its gaze follows Link’s.  _

_ Link clears his throat, which suddenly feels very tight.  _

_ “When… I go…” he starts, voice barely a whisper in the dark. “Will you come with me?”  _

_ The Wolf does not respond and Link has to swallow back the emotion that suddenly swells within his chest.  _

_ “It’s just that… I think I’m going to die again…” He turns fully to The Wolf. “I don’t remember what it’s like to die. …I’d like not to be alone when it happens.”  _

_ The Wolf blinks up at him, before shuffling forward and pressing itself into Link’s side, curling up against him with its head on Link’s chest. Link rests his hand on the crown of The Wolf’s head, fingers tracing the strange patterns above its brow. They remain there, quiet as the fire dies beside them, breaths becoming visible as the night cools. Link blinks, trying to stay awake. On his chest, The Wolf lets out a low hum.  _

_ “I think... you died,” Link finally says, quiet. Soft.  _

_ The Wolf breathes out, its breath a plume of white in front of Link’s face. _

_ “I think you died young.” _

_ The Wolf closes its eyes.  _

_ “I’m sorry,” Link whispers, but The Wolf does not respond.  _

  
  
  
  


Wild wakes in water and his first thought is to panic; he chokes back a cry, pushing upwards with a jerk and scrambling until he’s kneeling in the shallow spring, limbs shaking. 

The panic fades a little as he realizes that he is not surrounded by shrine walls cast in blue light, but by trees basking in the golden glow of twilight; he still takes far too many breaths in an effort to calm down. There’s a splash nearby and he forces his head to turn, blinking at the form lying only a few feet away from him. 

“...Twi?”

The form shudders, a muffled groan escaping it as it forces itself to its hands and knees. Wild jumps to his feet, teetering at the headrush he receives for his actions, and stumbles over to where his mentor is currently crouched in the shallow waters, shaking. 

“Twilight!” 

Wild drops to his knees beside Twilight, hands coming up to steady him at his shoulders. Twilight shakes his head, coughing, and Wild feels a rush of panic as he sees blood hit the water. 

“Shit, oh shit!” He wraps an arm around Twilight’s torso, hefting him upwards, but Twilight only yelps in response. 

“Ow! Stop, stop! I’m fine, I’m fine!” 

“You’re coughing up  _ blood _ !” 

Twilight stifles another cough, pushing himself to sit up more and using Wild as leverage. 

“I bit my cheek,” he says breathlessly, eyes lidded. Wild shifts, helping his mentor to lean more fully on him, and places a hand over Twilight’s stomach, the tunic there still soaked red despite their impromptu bath. 

“You fell off a mountain… you’ve got more than just a bitten cheek.” 

Twilight huffs, tilting his head to give Wild a rather lazy once over. 

“...How’s your head?” 

Wild grimaces, noting, for the first time, the incredible headache building behind his eyeballs. He reaches a hand to his forehead and it comes away sticky. 

“Bleeding.” 

Twilight barks out a laugh, which immediately dissolves into a coughing fit. Wild holds him steady, until he’s able to catch his breath. 

“Well, at least you’re honest,” Twilight grunts, bringing a hand up to clasp Wild’s shoulder. He takes in another strained breath. “You wouldn’t happen to have any healin’ potions in that magic slate of yours, would ya?” 

Wild nods; he’s relieved to find the Sheikah Slate still attached at his hip. He produces a hearty potion, pushing it into Twilight’s hand and helping him hold it steady. Twilight gets through about half of it, grimacing at the taste, before presenting the rest to Wild. 

“Here,” he gasps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I’m fine,” Wild says and shakes his head; he immediately regrets it when the world tilts dangerously and Twilight has to reach a hand out to steady him as he sways on his knees.

“Sure,” Twilight hums, and pushes the vial to Wild’s lips. “You definitely have a bit of a concussion, Cub.” 

Wild doesn’t protest much after that and the throbbing behind his eyes ebs with the potion. He’s taken so many at this point that he hardly balks at the taste; instead he allows Twilight to give him the rest and then they sit there, waiting for their hurts to fade entirely. Twilight still looks rather uncomfortable, his hand replacing Wild’s at his stomach, but his eyes are clearer and more focused. Wild sighs, trying to relax his shoulders. Beside him, Twilight shifts, glancing around at their surroundings, before suddenly perking up, as if just seeing them for the first time. 

“What?” Wild asks, watching as his mentor twists to look behind them. Wild follows Twilight’s gaze and finds an old ivy-covered gate closing off the rest of the spring; the forest beyond is dark with the coming night. Twilight lets out a soft breathy laugh, before standing slowly. Wild follows soon after, ready to catch him should he fall, but Twilight only begins to make his way to the edge of the water, standing on the border between sand and spring. 

“I know where we are,” he says finally, turning back to look at Wild. He doesn’t elaborate - doesn’t need to. Wild has never been to Twilight’s Hyrule, but already the connection between this place and his mentor is clear. He follows Twilight to the gate, grimacing when Twilight pushes on it, only to find that it's rusted shut. 

“I could climb over,” he suggests, but Twilight only shakes his head. 

“No… here. Over here.” He leads Wild to a patch of overhanging ivy, pulling it back to reveal a small tunnel through the surrounding wall of earth. Wild kneels, glancing inside, and before shooting Twilight a look. 

“You sure you can fit through there?” 

Twilight makes an offended noise, diving forward to grab at him, but Wild is already scrambling through the tunnel, his laughs stifled. He emerges, covered wonderfully in dirt, and takes a moment to breathe. Twilight follows a bit after, looking rather miffed and equally dirty, but he seems to forgive Wild when offered a hand to get up. They dust themselves off, Wild chuckling as Twilight is forced to remove his pelt and shake it out. 

“It’s already soaked… with water  _ and _ blood,” Wild notes, snickering when Twilight shoots him a look. “Not that anybody will be able to tell with how dark it’s getting.” He pauses, looking around. The forest is all shadows, what little light the setting sun once gave now gone, and the brightest things Wild can see are the stars, pinpricks of light peeking through the canopy above them. It’s only enough to make out the barest hint of a path, disappearing into the surrounding undergrowth. 

“We should make camp,” Wild murmurs, but Twilight makes a noise of disagreement. 

“No,” he states rather matter-of-factly, and grips Wild shoulder as he begins to walk, leading Wild through the forest with ease. “We can stay at my place - we ain’t that far.” 

“Oh, okay, yeah that sounds - wait.” Wild stops and blinks. “ _ Your  _ place?”

* * *

Twilight’s place, it turns out, is a tree house, nestled in the thick branches of an old oak and carved partially from the trunk itself; Twilight leads him across the small clearing the house reside in and up a small ladder, pushing the open with a grunt and showing him inside. 

It’s too dark to see inside, so Wild is left standing in the doorway while Twilight fumbles around for a lantern. He listens to his mentor muttering to himself, shuffling about in the dark until he produces a small ‘aha!’ and then the catch of a match echoes through the house. A small flame appears, bobbing in the ink blackness, and Wild can just make out Twilight’s grinning face as he adds a bit more oil to the lamp. 

“There we go,” Twilight says, triumphant, and Wild blinks as his eyes adjust, the flame growing stronger and bathing the interior in the warm glow of firelight. 

“Oh,” he whispers, looking around. 

The house is… cosy. Small and simple, with rustic furniture, carved by the hand of someone who clearly cared. A soft, worn rug covers the wooden floors and almost every chair or stool is decorated with some sort of wool blanket. Twilight gives him a quick tour, leading him across the main room to a small cooking pot, storage area, and a hatch that leads down into a cellar. 

“Up there’s the bed,” Twilight explains, pointing to a small loft area. Twilight shrugs and Wild doesn’t miss the sheepish look his companion tries to hide behind his hair. “It’s not much… but it’s mine.”

Wild hums, at a loss of what to say. In all honesty, he’s… 

Jealous. 

The house is a home. 

He runs a hand along a nearby shelf, the carved surface rough beneath his fingertips; he can almost feel the love that’s gone into it. His finger comes away relatively clean; the house is well kept, despite the fact that Wild knows Twilight has not been back recently. 

Somewhere behind him, Twilight hums, and Wild turns to see him inspecting a piece of paper on a nearby desk. He looks rather deep in thought, mumbling something under his breath, and Wild steps away to give him privacy; he makes his way over to the ladder leading up to the loft area and, with a quick glance at Twilight, begins to climb. 

The loft is small, holding only enough room for a single bed and bedside table. Wild does not linger there long - there’s another ladder leading to another ledge and, at the top, he finds only a single window.

Outside, the moon makes an appearance, breaking through the clouds to bathe the little clearing in silver light. 

Wild sits at the window, studying the ground below; a lone post is where he figures Twilight ties Epona up. A water trough sits nearby. He can see a row of targets and straw dummies near the edge of the clearing, slash marks through most of them. 

He stares, imagining Twilight practicing with his sword and grooming Epona and laying out on the small grass when the sun is high in the sky overhead. He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t hear the creak of the ladder or the soft footsteps approaching him; instead, he jumps ever so slightly as Twilight sits down beside him to gaze out the window as well. They sit in silence for a while, until Twilight sighs and Wild sees, for the first time, the paper from before in his hand. 

“It’s a letter,” Twilight says with prompting. “From a... friend.” 

“How did they know we were going to be here?” 

“He didn’t. There’s…” Twilight pauses. “There’s more downstairs… I think he’s just been writin’ and leavin’ ‘em here for… for whenever I came back.” 

Wild doesn’t comment on that, just waits for Twilight to continue. It takes a while, but Twilight finally hefts the paper a little higher, his gaze still lingering on the window. 

“He’s talkin’ ‘bout the same kind of stuff that was happenin’ back in your place; everythin’ with the mountain and the storms. They’ve been havin’ trouble with monsters. And the rain’s been pretty bad over the kingdom.” 

Wild lets out a long sigh through his nose, leaning back from the window and staring up at the ceiling. Twilight’s lantern beside them, its light casting their shadows out over the house like twisted trees. Wild chews his lips, thinking. 

“Everything’s connected, I guess… the others are in different hyrules as well.” 

“What makes you say that?” Twilight asks without looking at him. 

“Makes sense, doesn’t it? If we all came to the same place, we’d all be together, like normal.” 

“Who’s to say we ain’t just split up ‘cause of the dragon flingin’ us off the mountain and into a storm?” 

Wild shrugs. 

“Just… doesn’t feel right. Every time we’ve split up before we end up finding each other fairly quickly.” He glances at Twilight out the corner of his eye. “I feel like we’d know if they were here… or you would at least.” 

Twilight hums, considering Wild words, before sighing and leaning back as well. 

“I ain’t feelin’ anything.” 

Wild huffs out a laugh at that and Twilight bumps his shoulder. He nods to the window. 

“We can head into town tomorrow then,” Twilight says and Wild doesn’t miss the sudden tremor in his voice. “Ask the people there if they’ve seen anythin’ weird.” 

His words are laced with apprehension that wasn’t there minutes before and Wild can see him gripping the letter in his hand even tighter. He leans slightly into Twilight’s shoulder. 

“Are you alright?” 

Twilight doesn’t answer. He stares at the window without blinking, his jaw clenched tight, and Wild can feel the tension in his shoulders; they sit for what feels like an eternity. Wild waits, patient, until Twilight shifts, dropping his gaze to look at the letter in his hand. 

“Sorry,” he whispers after a moment. Wild shakes his head. 

“It’s alright.” 

Twilight huffs, but does not meet Wild’s gaze. Instead he stands, offering a hand to help Wild up as well, before making his way down to the lower loft. 

“After town tomorrow, we should head to where the storms the worst. See if we can get back to the others. For now… we should rest,” he mutters the last part, standing over the bed. 

Wild hops down after him, the dying lantern in his grip. 

“Is it safe?” 

“The house? Yeah.” 

“You sure?”

“Haven’t been killed in my sleep, yet.” 

Wild swallows back a wave of fear, memories of late nights and unanswered questions bubbling to the surface, and instead goes to continue down the next ladder; a hand on his shoulder stops him. 

“You take the bed,” Twilight says, nodding to the mess of furs and blankets stacked high upon the wooden frame. Wild hesitates, his foot already on the first rung. He thinks about the night they all spent in his house; how in the middle of the night, when he just couldn’t take it anymore, he’d gathered his blankets and curled up on the floor. 

It wasn’t the open air or the grass of the meadows, but the wood floor was better than the too soft mattress or the creaking bed frame. 

Twilight is still staring at him, one eyebrow arched. 

“No,” Wild finally says, and sinks down the ladder to the floor. “You take it. It’s your bed after all.” 

He doesn’t wait for a response; instead, he turns away and finds a space on the floor near the wall. He retrieves his bedroll from the Sheikah Slate and steals a few wool blankets from a nearby chair, before laying them out and arranging them into a sort of nest on the floor. He can hear Twilight shuffling about up in the loft. 

Once he deems it worthy, Wild changes into a comfier set of clothes, piling his snowquill garments in the corner to wash later and sits himself down in his makeshift bed, dowsing the lantern. He scans through the Sheikah Slate; the map is all static, which is to be expected, but he tries anyway. He ends up rechecking his supplies, making sure nothing was lost in their little trip through time and space, before setting the Slate aside and burrowing down into the blankets. He’s facing the wall, trying to quiet his mind, when he hears the ladder behind him creak. He turns in time to see Twilight standing awkwardly above him, a pile of blankets in his arms. Twilight shuffles his feet. 

“Um…” 

Wild’s gaze travels from his mentor to the loft space, before he purses his lips and scoots over on his bedroll. 

He gets it. Really. 

Spending ages out on the road makes it hard to go back to normal things. 

You’re own bed becomes an unknown entity. 

Twilight doesn’t say much, just dumps his own blankets down and curls up with his back against Wild’s; the two of them squeeze onto the single bedroll, pressed against each other like sheep in a pasture. Wild stares at the wall; Twilight has chosen not to remove his pelt, and the feeling of coarse fur against his back brings up memories Wild has been trying to keep buried for the past few weeks. 

He knows he’s not going to be sleeping anytime soon and, if the tenseness of Twilight’s shoulders are anything to go by, he doubts his mentor will be either. He can practically hear Twilight’s own racing thoughts. 

He remembers the letter. The way Twilight’s voice had strained against the words he’d spoken. 

“Hey,” Wild whispers and he feels Twilight shift against his back. He stops, unsure of how to go on. Twilight is silent and Wild knows he’s waiting. “How… long has it been since you’ve been back here?” 

Twilight goes still and Wild can hear his breath catch. 

“... ‘bout four years.” 

Wild blinks. 

“That’s a lot longer than the time we’ve been travelling.” 

Twilight is quiet, but Wild can feel him turn to lay on his back. He does the same after a moment, ignoring the way half of his body now rests on the cold floor, and glances at Twilight; he’s staring up at the ceiling, chewing his lip. Wild waits, before asking. 

“Why did you leave?” 

Twilight hums, low and quiet.

“I left,” he starts, but hesitates. He turns his head and Wild can see, even in the dark, that his eyes are wide. “Because I couldn’t stand to be here anymore.” 

“Why?” 

“It... was the same…” He pauses, searching for the words, his hands coming up to gesture vaguely in front of him. “It was the same as how it was when I left, but… but I  _ wasn’t _ .” He turns to look at the ceiling again. “I wasn’t the same anymore. Everyone went back to livin’ their lives and I couldn’t. I couldn’t be a farmhand again. I couldn’t watch over the kids. They…” He laughs, hollow and void of any mirth. “They asked me to teach ‘em how to fight. How to use a sword and… and… how do you teach ‘em? How do you teach ‘em without also teachin’ ‘em how to kill as well?” 

Wild doesn’t know all of Twilight’s story, just as Twilight doesn’t know all of his. 

Wild knows of shadows and monsters and a curse to be lifted. He knows of long nights in the forest spent running and fighting. He knows of a name whispered in the dark of night, with breaths layered in spirits. 

“I felt so... alone, even when I was surrounded by everyone I’d ever known.” 

He doesn’t know about life before. 

Twilight falls quiet again, Wild doesn’t miss the way he swallows back more words. 

“Do you miss them?” He asks quietly after a moment. Twilight’s lips twitch, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards. 

“Everyday.”

Wild doesn’t know what to say after that, so he simply pushes closer, leaning his head against Twilight’s shoulder. Twilight sighs and Wild feels him rest his cheek on the crown of his head. 

“Thanks, Cub.” 

“Yeah,” Wild whispers. “Any time.” 

* * *

Twilight is still sleeping when Wild slips from the house, scaling the oak to rest in the cradle of one of its branches; he produces a few sticks from the Sheikah Slate when he settles himself. Most are still works in progress, but they’re finished enough. 

He doesn’t need more arrows, with how the group had stocked up before leaving for Mt. Lanayru, but fletching has always been an easy way to distract himself. 

He pulls feathers from the Slate as he needs them and tries to focus entirely on the task at hand; it’s difficult. Rarely can he focus on one thing at a time and, in the few instances when he can, it’s always to the point of extreme fixation. 

His thoughts wander to places he wishes they wouldn’t; The Wolf creeps like a shadow on the boundaries between memories, popping up when he leasts expects it. 

It’s difficult, also, to connect the two of them. 

The Wolf.

Twilight. 

The Wolf.

Twilight. 

Wild doesn’t want to think of them as the same entity. 

He doesn’t want to think about what that means. 

So instead he fletches arrows and hums a tune and certainly does not think about how one day his mentor is going to be nothing more than a spirit trapped within a wild animal, tethered to the world thousands of years after he should have left it. 

In fact, he does not think about it so hard, that he doesn’t notice the approach of the stranger until they enter the clearing. He looks up just in time to see them notice him. 

“Hey!” 

It’s a boy. He must be about Wind’s age by the look of him, perhaps a bit younger; he holds himself with the masked timidness of a child trying to be braver than they are. In his hands, he grasps a bundle of papers. 

“What are you doin’ in Link’s tree?!” 

Wild pauses in his fletching, unsure of how to proceed. The boy is still glaring at him, teeth clenched; Wild sets aside his arrows, about to jump down and get Twilight, when three more figures crest the hill. 

“Colin, stop running ahead all the time! It’s not like he’s actually gonna- hey!”

It’s a young girl, maybe a year or two older, with two more boys at her side. All four of them stare at Wild, eyes wide.

“Get out of there!” One of the boys yells, pointing an angry finger in Wild’s direction. The other one, slightly older, pulls something from his belt and Wild has just enough time to leap to a higher branch before a small stone is flung in his direction; the boy holds his slingshot and scowls at the miss, reaching into his bag for more ammunition. 

“Can you  _ not _ ?” Wild calls down and the four of them pause in their assault, eyeing him warily. 

The first boy, Colin, steps forward, chin raised and Wild has to commend him for the hint of courage masking whatever reservations the kid has. 

“Why are you in Link’s tree? Are you tryin’ to steal from him?!” 

The other three join in at this accusation, once again hurling questions (and stones) at Wild. 

Wild sits on his branch, safely out of reach, and contemplates calling for Twilight; he figures that it won’t do much, considering that, if Twilight hasn’t been woken up from all the screaming already, he probably won’t wake for Wild either. It’s worth a shot though, especially with the one kid’s aim getting progressively better; Wild curses, ducking as a stone hits the branch above him, and then leans over to call down. 

“Twi! Twi, I need help,  _ now _ !”

He doesn’t expect much, but the sudden crash from inside the house is enough to startle both him and his attackers into silence and then, suddenly, the door to the house flings open and Twilight stumbles out, bedraggled and looking around frantically. 

“Wild?! What hap-” 

Twilight stops and, even from up high, Wild can make out the expression of shock on his mentor’s face as he stares down at the group of children (teenagers, Wild figures, remembering Wind’s face at being referred to as a child), who seem equally stunned to see him. 

The slingshot drops to the down, slipping from the one boy’s grasp, and goes unnoticed.

“...Link?” 

It’s the girl, her hands wrung nervously in front of her as she stares up at Twilight. Wild remains where he is, watching as Twilight stares back, before bringing a hand up to wave sheepishly. 

“Uh. Hey…?” 

The reaction is instantaneous; Colin makes a mad dash for the ladder, scaling it in a matter of seconds and practically flinging himself with a cry into Twilight’s arms; the two of them disappear into the house as Twilight stumbles back. The other three kids are close behind, scrambling up the ladder and into the house. Wild can hear the ‘thump’ as they also, presumably, jump on Twilight.

Wild waits a moment in the tree, listening to the reunion; he dares not interrupt, not until he hears Twilight calling for his help. 

He takes his time coming down from his perch and, even when he makes it to the house, he stands in the doorway and relishes the sight of Twilight on the ground with four kids piled on top of him. 

“Wild-” Twilight tries, reaching out a hand; the other is trapped beneath the young girl where she’s gripping it fiercely and crying. “Cub… please…” 

He sounds choked. It’s probably from the boy sobbing into his chest. 

Wild smiles, leaning against the doorframe. Twilight must understand, because he lets out a wail that is quickly drowned out by the cries of his little friends. 

“I, I, I c-can’t b-believe you’re b-b-baaaaaack,” one of them is blubbering, though Wild can’t really tell which one. It might be the kid with the slingshot; he’s currently tucked into Twilight’s side, limbs wrapped around Wild’s mentor like an octorok. The rest of them are in similar states of distress, clinging to Twilight, who is trying valiantly to stand. Wild looks on. 

It takes a while, but soon the crying dies down and Twilight manages to sit up, an arm wrapped around Colin, still cling to his chest. He glares at Wild, but the expression is broken when the boy sniffs, burrowing deeper into Twilight’s tunic and Twilight leans over to whisper something in his ear. The other children pull back one by one, wiping their eyes and noses and babbling half formed questions with tear heavy voices. 

Wild steps back. 

This isn’t for him. 

He makes his way back into the branches of the oak, perching himself out on a limb, and waits. 

His arrows remain unfinished; he spends his time flipping through the Slate instead. Below, Twilight speaks in hushed tones, words that Wild can’t and doesn’t try to make out. 

Instead, he watches the morning sun climb higher, the sky fading from orange to blue, until, finally, Twilight emerges. Wild doesn’t turn, pretending to be engrossed in the Sheikah Slate, until Twilight calls out to him; he looks rather out of breath, but he’s smiling. 

It’s strained, the tension from last night having yet to leave his features, but he looks happy for once, so Wild makes his way down.

“Hey,” Twilight says when Wild stands before him. He bites his lip, before taking a breath and nodding to the door. “There’s some people I want you to meet.” 


	10. Wild II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Beware the leaving and returning. For from once whence you came, your old life remains, and to take it back is not a simple task. In the end, you may have no choice but to leave it behind, for no longer is there room within yourself to house the former. You have been corrupted by the outside world and to come back is a journey not every heart is strong enough for."
> 
> \- Queen Zelda VII of Hyrule, in response to her dismissal of an old Captain

Here’s the thing; it isn’t that Wild dislikes meeting new people. 

He likes exploring; visiting new places, ‘chatting’ with the locals. He even likes children, to a degree. Sure sometimes they talk a bit too loudly, or disobey him when he tells them not to touch his weapons, but it’s fine. 

It really is fine. 

It’s the  _ looks _ that he hates. 

The stares and the lips bitten and the eyes cast downward to look at anything, but him. At his face.

The glances cast his direction when they believe he is not looking. 

He knows it’s bad - he’s seen himself enough times to map every inch of scarred skin and aching flesh; stood stark naked over a pool of water just to know how far it really went. How much of him was ripped away and then crudely placed back together. 

He knows his scars through the pain they cause him everytime it rains. Everytime it snows. Everytime the sun bakes the world or the night chills him to his core. 

Everytime he pulls back his arm to let loose an arrow, he knows the extent to which he truly died. 

(It’s fine at first. Normal. You don’t know otherwise; can’t remember a time without scars and pain, and so it’s not  _ really _ pain. It’s just skin and muscle and bone, functioning as if that’s how they’d always been.)

Twilight leads him through the doorway, glancing back to makes sure that Wild’s still with him. 

(It starts to hurt when you realize it doesn’t have to. When you see yourself in a picture you don’t remember taking, and realize that you weren’t always this way. That you never needed to become what you are now.)

Three of the four newcomers are standing in the common area of Twilight’s house, whispering amongst themselves; Colin, stands apart, following Twilight with his eyes like he’s afraid Twilight will disappear if he looks away. Wild’s not so sure he isn’t completely wrong. 

Wild pauses in the doorway, four pairs of eyes turning to look at him, and he feels suddenly very small. 

Wild has rarely felt small. 

He looks  _ up _ at people often, sure, but rarely does he feel like something diminutive; something insignificant in the face of something far more powerful or important. 

The girl takes a small step back and Wild watches her gaze trace the left side of his face, travelling down his jaw to where his skin disappears under blue fabric. Her hands grip the hemline of her tunic.

Wild felt small before The Calamity. 

The tallest of the boys grips his slingshot tighter, eyes wide, and Wild can see the way he’s staring at his ear, mottled and red, and then the scar across his collar bone. The smallest of the kids, cheeks still round with baby fat, casts a critical eye over Wild’s hands; they’re covered, worn gloves shielding them from prying eyes, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that his left hand is just as scarred as the rest of him. 

Twilight’s shoulder brushes against his as he steps forward; a moment of reassurance, of acknowledgement, and Wild is grateful until blue eyes snap to meet his and he is stuck staring down the gaze of the last kid, Colin. 

Wild feels very, very small.

“This is Wild,” Twilight says and the tension snaps like a bowstring; it doesn’t break, but there’s a moment of reprieve as the children ponder over the name. 

“Wild…?” The girl asks, her voice soft with hesitation. Wild smiles softly, shrugging. 

“It’s a nickname,” Twilight says lightly.

The girl nods slowly, somewhat eased; her shoulders drop and she glances quickly at Twilight, before stepping forward and offering her hand. 

“I’m Beth,” she says, and then turns to look at the others. “That’s Malo, Talo-” 

Wild tries not to quirk his eyebrow.

“-and Colin.” 

Said boys nod as their names are called, but none step forward. Beth purses her lips and Wild huffs a laugh when she rolls her eyes, her hands making their way to her hips. 

“Ignore ‘em,” she sighs, and shakes her head. “They clearly have  _ no  _ manners.” 

Wild can see Twilight chuckling beside him and he lets himself relax a little; Beth’s accusation spurs Talo to step forward, a hand thrown out awkwardly with a half-formed apology. Wild takes it with another soft smile. 

“Nice to meet you,” Talo mutters, not quite meeting Wild’s eyes. Twilight bumps his shoulder and Wild ignores the way his mentor’s lips quirk upwards at the corners. Malo, on the other hand, does not step forward, but he does give Wild a nod, which Wild figures is as close to a proper greeting as he’s going to get. 

Colin stays back. 

Wild lets it go. 

Twilight waits a moment and Wild can feel his gaze travelling back and forth between him and the boy; when nothing happens, Twilight only clears his throat and mentions finally going to the village. The declaration ignites a new wave of excitement within the group - the children all begin to talk at once, questions spilling forth like fountain water.

“Are you excited to see Ilia, Link?” Beth is already grabbing Twilight’s hand and moving towards the door, motioning for the others to come as well. 

“Link! Are you gonna show us more sword moves?” Malo and Talo follow, gathering like flock dogs at Twilight’s heels. 

“Link?” Wild isn’t surprised to see Colin push his way to Twilight’s side, nor is he surprised to see the hand that Twilight places on Colin’s head. Colin presses closer. “Link, are you gonna stay…?” 

It’s a jumble of words and voices and Wild is content to follow from a few feet behind. More questions follow, more hands reach up to grab and pull, and, in the midst of it, Twilight looks back.

He meets Wild’s eyes and blinks, mouth drawn thin. 

Wild sees pain. 

It is a flash of lightning behind storm clouds; not an arch across the sky, but the dull illumination of dark shapes, noticeable only by those who are looking to find the signs of a hidden storm. 

Wild is not looking, but he’s held a storm within himself enough times to know how to count the seconds between each breath and how to tell the difference between the silhouette of a cloud against a falling star and that of a lightning strike. 

Twilight blinks and it’s gone, but Wild still moves to catch up, not so subtly placing himself shoulder to shoulder with Twilight; the tension drains from his mentor almost instantly and it gives Wild the motivation to ignore the burning he can feel on the back of his neck, young eyes watching his every move. 

The chatter of the children quiets a little, falling into idle conversation about the village; what has happened since Twilight has been gone, how the harvests have been, and the storms that have reared their thunderous heads in the past few weeks. 

“They’ve been close?” Twilight asks suddenly, interrupting the end of Beth’s story of the last storm. Beth startles a bit at the tone of his voice, glancing at the other kids. 

“...yes,” she explains hesitantly. “There was one almost directly over the village a few weeks ago.” 

Twilight tenses and Wild meets his gaze out of the corner of his eye. 

“But it moved on pretty quickly,” Beth continues. “Jaggle’s been keepin’ an eye on ‘em-”

“He won’t tell us anythin’ though!” Talo breaks in, stomping his foot. “He keeps sayin’ that it’s nothin’ and that we shouldn’t worry ‘bout it!” 

“It’s ‘cause he knows you’re gonna go lookin’ for trouble if he tells you anything more,” Beth huffs, crossing her arms. 

They dissolve into squabbles, going back and forth; Malo eventually joins when Beth accuses him and Talo of always causing problems, and Twilight, Wild, and Colin are left to continue onward down the path. 

It’s still rather early, but Wild has no illusions that the village will be asleep; he himself is an early riser on average, and he’s watched Twilight get up at the break of dawn often enough to know that the people of his home village will be the same. So, it’s no surprise to see a figure waiting for them in front of a small gate, smoke rising from the houses beyond. 

The figure is small and slight, hands wrung nervously in front of them, and Wild watches as Twilight slows to a stop as they draw closer. His eyes are blown wide and Wild reaches out a hand to grip Twilight’s arm, an unspoken question left hanging in the air. 

“Oh,” Twilight murmurs and, on his other side, Colin perks up. 

“She usually waits for us to come back,” he says. “She’s probably worried - we’ve been gone longer than normal.” 

The figure is staring at them now, hands limp at her sides. 

Wild can hear the other children running up behind them, their voices tapering off as they too come to a stop, but his focus remains on Twilight; his mentor is completely still, save for the hitch of breath that escapes him. 

“Ilia!” It’s Talo, his scream causing Twilight to visibly startle. “Ilia! Ilia, Link’s home!” 

Ilia. Wild’s heard the name before - mentioned briefly during one of those long nights where the groups finds itself huddled beneath a shelter less than ideal, where the only warmth they have is that found at the bottom of a bottle, and where the only comfort is that of old memories.

He comes back to himself in time to see the figure bulldoze into Twilight, flinging her arms around his neck and letting out a sob that’s quickly muffled by the fur adorning his shoulders. Wild releases Twilight’s arm and takes a step back, suddenly uncomfortable being in such close proximity to the reunion; it feels too personal, too private. 

He waits patiently as Twilight returns the hug, looking more than a little bewildered at the situation, and then the figure, Ilia, draws back, wiping her eyes with her hand. 

“I didn’t,” she starts and then pauses to take a deep breath. “I didn’t think that you’d…” 

She trails off. Twilight is nodding and Wild can see the way his jaw clenches, tension returning to his shoulders. 

“Uh, yeah,” Twilight says eloquently and swallows. “Sorry… ‘bout that.” 

Ilia stares at him and Wild doesn’t miss the look of hurt and disbelief that flashes across her features, though it quickly disappears as she takes the chance to give Twilight a solid punch in the arm; Twilight flinches at the contact, despite the punch not being nearly strong enough to actually cause any damage, and Ilia withdraws, her lips pursed. 

“Took you long enough,” she says softly, her gaze travelling over Twilight’s body and, oh, now Wild gets it. He glances at Twilight’s face, but whatever feelings Ilia has are clearly not returned; Twilight is staring at her, but his look is one of fear and uncertainty. 

Yikes. 

Wild shifts on his feet; the air suddenly feels heavier than before. Ilia reaches out, brushing a piece hair away from Twilight’s face and, while he lets her, his arms remain rigid at his side. 

“Have you been takin’ good care of Epona?” 

“...Aye.” 

“Where is she then?” 

Twilight breathes in through his nose and Wild winces; with all that’s been going on, the thought that their horses are still back in his world has been pushed to the sidelines. They’re safe at least, in good hands, but the situation is less than ideal regardless. 

“They’re at Wild’s place,” Twilight says, nodding in his direction, and then everyone’s gaze shifts. Wild stiffens, blinking at the sudden attention. Ilia jumps, as if just now noticing that Wild is there; he raises a hand in greeting, equally uncomfortable. Ilia blinks, her eyes wide as she takes him in, and then steps away with a flurry of hands, bowing awkwardly. 

“Oh my- I am so sorry, I didn’t even - so sorry, um.” She straightens, offering a hand. “I’m Ilia.” 

Wild smiles and takes her hand. Ilia purses her lips, waiting, but her shoulders relax when he gives her hand a light squeeze, and she pulls away to turn back to Twilight. 

“The village’ll be happy to see you again,” she says softly and Twilight hums, eyes trained on the houses just a little ways away. Ilia studies him, eyes lingering on his face. “You kept the markings,” she says. It’s not a question. 

“Not really a way to get rid of ‘em.” 

Ilia smiles at that, her lips quirking on one side, and she steps back. 

“My father’s meetin’ with Rusl and Jaggle. Market’s just about to open as well.” 

It’s an invitation to go, Wild realizes, and Twilight takes it with caution; he steps forward, Colin glued to his side, before glancing back at Wild. 

Wild nods towards the village. 

_ Go _ , he signs, movements quick. Twilight’s still learning, but he knows enough by now that Wild knows he gets the message. 

_ Go. I’ll catch up later.  _

It’s another reunion that is not Wild’s to intrude upon, so instead he hangs back as Twilight makes his way into the town below, accompanied by Colin and the other kids. It’s not long before voices began to rise like the chimney smoke above the houses, and Wild can make out the forms of villagers rushing to meet their returning hero. 

“They missed him,” Ilia says and Wild nearly jumps out of his skin, unaware that she had stayed behind. She looks at him apologetically, before nodding to where a crowd has formed around Twilight. Wild can barely see his mentor amongst the wave of bodies trying to push closer. “He’s been gone for a long while.” 

Wild watches as a man forces his way to the front of the crowd, grabbing Twilight and pulling him into a crushing hug. Ilia remains silent, but Wild can tell she’s not waiting for him to respond; she seems too caught up in watching the theatrics below. 

Finally she turns away to face him fully, casting a critical eye over the whole of him, and Wild dips his head, waiting. 

“You two are close,” she says after a moment. “I can tell.” 

She purses her lips, an emotion Wild can’t quite identify flashing behind her eyes. She shifts, bringing a hand up to push some hair behind her ear. 

“You’re lucky,” she says with a small laugh, though there’s barely any humor in it. “He doesn’t really like to get close to people.” 

Wild raises an eyebrow. He thinks of the others; of their little rag tag group of heroes and the nights they’ve spent together. He thinks of the laughter and the stories and the times that he’s curled up next to Twilight and Time to wait out a storm or a nightmare. 

He thinks of Twilight dragging him into towns and taverns, pushing a drink into his hands and then pulling him along to dance with a group of random strangers, scars be damned.

Ilia grimaces and Wild thinks she must be talking about some distant other Twilight. 

“How long… well. Long enough to grow close I guess,” she murmurs, her question aborted and her eyes once again trained on the village. “He said he was gonna go travel far away… are you from far away then?” 

Wild doesn’t really know how to answer that, so he just nods. 

“You guys are good friends, then?” 

Friends. Family. A single spirit reincarnated into different bodies yet retaining separate and unique personalities. 

Sure. 

He nods again and Ilia falls silent. 

They stand, two silent onlookers, until Ilia finally sighs and begins to make her way into the village as well. Wild trails behind her, taking in the surrounding homes, before turning his attention back to the mob in front of him. 

He can barely see Twilight’s head above the rest; when he finally comes into view, there’s another small child hanging off of one of his arms, and he’s trapped beneath the arm of an older man. The little girl clinging to Twilight’s arm bares a striking resemblance to Colin and she screams in delight as she swings back and forth. Twilight staggers under her weight and the arm around his shoulder tightens its hold, the man attached unaware of Twilight’s struggle as he laughs heartily. 

“Ah Uli will be glad to have you back; we’ll have a grand feast tonight!” 

Wild grimaces, thinking of the others waiting for them wherever they are. Twilight has the same expression adorning his features, but, when he opens his mouth to speak, his response is drowned out by more people coming forward to speak. 

Ilia hangs back, even when Wild shoulders his way forward. He’s stopped from getting to Twilight when a large woman cuts him off, a basket of goods in her arm, which she thrust forward for Twilight to take. It remains unreceived, Twilight’s arms still full with the young girl, but the woman seems unperturbed; she’s already talking, her voicing mixing in with the others as she tries to tell Twilight something about the new products in her store.

It entirely too much noise and energy for Wild, but he swallows back the discomfort. The woman in front of him steps to the side and finally Wild is able to get a full view of Twilight; he stops, staring at the figure of his mentor, drowning in a sea of friendly voices.

Twilight’s jaw tenses as another villager grabs his arm, a question Wild can’t make out slipping past their lips. Wild realizes what Twilight had truly meant the night before, sprawled out on cold floorboards.

Every greeting, every question ; they are for a person that no longer exists. 

Wild grimaces, watching as Twilight dodges yet another question, shoulders hunching ever higher. Colin grips his tunic, staring at Twilight with such intensity that Wild feels a sudden pang of sympathy.

The people here search in the vain hope of finding someone that left them long ago, someone who is not going to come back. 

“Link,” Colin says, tapping Twilight’s arm. Wild’s mentor turns, a pained smile on his face as he tries to answer; he’s pulled away by the arm as another person joins the fray and Colin bites his lip, clearly disappointed. 

“Oh Link, I can’t wait to show you all the new merchandise,” a woman is saying and Wild watches as Twilight nods, eyes darting back and forth between villagers. 

The crowd surges and pulls, each trying to get a word in, and Twilight begins to buckle under the weight of it all, head turning left and right and left and right, frantically trying to address everyone at once. 

“Link! We’ll have to start practicin’ again now!” A man shouts, throwing an arm around Twilight, who stumbles under the sudden weight.

“Link, wait ‘till I show you the new place I found to fish in!” 

“Link, it’ll be so great to have you back on the farm!” 

“Link,” Colin says, pushing his way back to the center of the crowd. “You’ll teach me how to fight, won’tcha? Like you promised? Link?”

“Twilight.” 

His voice is quiet beneath the cacophony of others, but Twilight turns to face him anyways, eyes wide. 

The noise around them dies, heads turning to look at the newcomer amongst them, and Wild bows under the weight of their gazes. He grimaces, looking at his mentor and waits. 

The girl gripping Twilight’s arm slowly releases her grasp, sliding to the ground. She stares up at Wild, before turning to Twilight and pulling on his tunic. 

“Who’s Twilight,” she asks, her voice squeaky with youth. Twilight winces, still staring at Wild, and some sort of understanding passes between the two of them. 

They can’t stay here. The others are waiting for them. 

Guilt flashes across Twilight’s face; as difficult as it is, these people are still family. The ones who raised him and cared for him and taught him what he knows. Wild does not dare pretend to think that Twilight does not miss them; does not wish with every fiber of his being that he could be the person he once was for them. He does not want to leave them. He does not want to abandon them like he has done before. 

Wild cannot quite relate to that; he has no memory of those he left behind over a century ago. His guilt is that of someone who failed to save a world and people that he no longer remembers, but he has no illusions regarding the dead. They are dead. They do not remember him either.

Twilight’s people will remember; they will be angry and sad and they will continue to travel to his home and leave their messages and their questions. They will continue to believe that, one day, the farm boy will return and take up his post in their village once more, and that everything will return to the way it was. 

Wild does not dissuade them of this illusion, of this hope. He does not force Twilight to make the decision; he will not let him fall further in their eyes. 

“We need to go,” he hears himself say and ignores the way that their eyes widen in disbelief and pain. 

He will bear the burden of their hatred; their blame for taking away one of their own. 

Twilight does not make the decision to leave this time; Wild makes it for him and, when Twilight only nods, he turns and begins to walk away, knowing that his mentor will follow. 

He ignores the way the village begins to protest and, instead, begins to prepare a mental list of they will need for their journey. 

* * *

  
  


Back at the treehouse, they pack in silence. 

Wild fills their canteens and counts his arrows. Twilight disappears into the house and returns with a chest; inside are clothes and pelts that he sorts through, before folding and packing them away into his pack.

The pack lightly; they have no horses to carry their supplies. Wild stores as much as he can in his slate, but it is, for the most part, already full of supplies from their original quest. It does at least mean that they are already somewhat prepared. 

Wild is practically finished with his own supplies when he feels Twilight approach and come to a stop behind him; they both remain quiet, even when Wild stands and turns to face his companion. Twilight’s lips are pursed and he stares at the ground with the intensity of a predator on the hunt. Wild waits. 

“...thank you,” Twilight finally whispers and Wild pretends that the choked way that Twilight speaks does not pierce something in his chest. Instead, he reaches forward and grasps Twilight’s arm, pulling him forward so they stand together, their foreheads resting against each other. Twilight breathes out slowly, his shoulders dropping, before he steps away, a melancholic smile adorning his features. Wild returns it, before handing Twilight his canteen. He doesn't ask if Twilight said 'goodbye' or if he wants to go back one more time. 

He simply asks, “Ready?” 

Twilight gives a jerky nod, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows back whatever emotions threaten to spill over. Wild says nothing, just shoulders his own pack and allows Twilight to begin leading the way into the woods.

They walk in silence; it is not uncomfortable, but necessary. Wild takes the time to sort through his thoughts; guilt nags at the back of him mind. He knows that Twilight is not angry at him for pulling him away; knows that, in a way, he is grateful, but, as he watches Twilight scout the forest around them, pausing to sweep through a nearby patch of grass, or to inspect a stone, he cannot help, but remember The Wolf. 

It lurks like a shadow in the wake of his steps, ever a silent presence at his side, though when he turns to look, the familiar shock of white fur against dark grey is not there. It is in front of him, in the form of his own mentor. 

Wild swallows back the guilt and tries to pretend that he may have just doomed Twilight to never see his village again. 

Because Wild knows. He knows that it ends. Maybe not how, but he knows that it happens sooner than Twilight deserves. 

He remembers when the group was once caught in a great storm and had taken refuge from the rain and lightning in a cave. Wild and Twilight had stayed up to keep watch, trading stories back and forth, keeping a running commentary on their companions as they’d slept. They’d gotten to Time and Twilight had paused, staring at his own mentor with a look of torment. It was unexpected in the face of their previous banter and Wild had reached out, concerned. 

Twilight hadn’t explained right away, attempting to turn the conversation back over to how Legend far more clingy in his sleep than he would ever admit, but by then it was too late, and Wild had simply stared until Twilight had relented, drawing his knees to his chest and leaning forward on his elbows.

“When I was on my… quest, there was this wolf… not me, but another. Like a spirit of sorts. It used to follow me, appearin’ to me in the night and beckonin’ me to come closer until one day it revealed that it was the spirit of a… soldier.” He had paused, leaning back on his hands. “He taught me the way of the blade. Taught me how to fight, truly fight like a warrior and not some… lowly farmhand.” 

Wild had listened intently, unsure of where this was going, but uneasy as he listened to Twilight weave a tale similar to his own. Twilight had sighed, glancing back to wear Time was sleeping against the wall of the cave, face for once free of the worry that so often adorned his brow. 

“It was the Ol’ Man.” 

Wild had started, eyes wide as he looked to Twilight for an explanation. Twilight had bitten his lip, grief poorly masked as he pulled his pelt tight around his shoulders. 

“He told me… he told me that he was a soul, trapped in the world of the livin’… said he’d died young, and he couldn’t move on ‘til he passed his knowledge to the next hero…” His voice had trembled, barely there beneath the raging storm outside. 

They’d fallen to silence then, each forced to think over the words Twilight had spoken. Wild had turned back to the storm, gaze lost in the onslaught of rain. 

He’d wanted to tell Twilight about The Wolf. He’d been excited to tell him that they would meet again someday; that Twilight would be key to Wild’s own quest. 

He’d remembered the night with The Wolf; the fire and the crickets and the questions he’d asked, not realizing who he was even speaking to. 

Wild had never considered The Wolf to be trapped; he’d thought it simply a gift from the goddess; a companion to make the nights less lonely, and to teach him what he could not learn on his own. It had been foolish of him to think such things; he was not unfamiliar with spirits, the very powers simmering beneath his skin a gift from those trapped in the world of the living until their final wishes could finally be recognised, so to believe that The Wolf was anything less than a tormented soul was pure ignorance. 

He’d not thought about the night in the storm for a long time after, pushing it to the back of his mind and focusing on his journey with the other heroes instead. He’d been successful, up until a few weeks ago, when the unsuspecting innkeeper had mentioned his four legged traveling companion and Wild had been forced to face the idea once again. 

It had plagued him since, resurfacing everytime he even looked at his mentor, unable to communicate what was truly wrong. 

And so here he was, following Twilight deeper into the woods and praying that he hasn’t doomed his own mentor to a death with even more regrets. 

“We’re stopping at the spring,” Twilight calls from up ahead, snapping Wild out of his thoughts. His mentor is already at the gate, walking along the perimeter and kneeling down at the entrance to the small tunnel from before.

“Still rusted shut,” he mutters when Wild approaches. He gestures to the tunnel. “After you.” 

The spring is the same as it was the day before; the waters are still and clear, disturbed only by the small waterfalls that supply them. Wild watches as Twilight removes his boots, folding his pant legs up to his knees, before wading into the water. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Praying.”

“ _ What? _ ”

Twilight just stands before the layered waterfalls, staring ahead at the water. Wild watches him for a moment, before resigning himself to wait, walking to the water’s edge and plopping himself down into the sand. He removes his boots as well, rolling up his pant legs and letting his legs rest in the cool waters of the spring. Finally, after a minute or so of silence, Twilight growls something under his breath and stalks back towards Wild, his lips twisted in a scowl. Wild snorts as Twilight sits beside him, sighing. 

“What were you expecting to happen?” 

“For the spirit of the spring to arrive and tell us what to do.” 

Wild blinks. 

“For the spirit of the-?”

He’s interrupted by a brilliant light filling the spring, sending both of them scrambling their feet. Wild reaches for his sword, but Twilight stills his hand with a touch, nodding to where the light is taking on form, morphing and shifting until Wild finds himself standing in the presence of a great golden goat, its horns adorned with a swirling ball of light; it reminds him, ever so slightly, of the spirit orbs he was once gifted by the ancient monks of his Hyrule. 

The spirit’s light fills the surrounding area, cascading down the waterfall and infecting the spring with its golden hue. Wild stands beside Twilight, watching as the spirit leans down, wide eyes blinking owlishly as it’s gaze washes over them. When it speaks, its deep voice reverberates throughout Wild’s entire body; it is reminiscent of the overpowering aura of the great dragons. 

“Heroes…” Its voice sends ripples across the water. “A great darkness has swept its blade across the worlds...” 

Wild shifts nervously on the balls of his feet. Beside him, Twilight is gripping the hem of his tunic. The spirit turns, head rising to peer at the surrounding forests, before it speaks again. 

“Its storms have laid waste to the lands beyond this forest… by the grace of the goddess I am spared… but my brethren are dying…” Finally it turns back to look at them and Wild feels something touch his mind before a rush like cold water comes over him, dousing him with a fear so intense he almost buckles under its weight. The spirit draws away after a moment, and the feeling subsides, though it does not disappear completely; instead the spirit reaches out again, gentler this time. 

“Devastation… despair… across time, they will leave their mark… stop it here if you can…” It pauses, and then Wild feels rather than sees the wry humor that overtakes its features. “... and pray that those trapped in times earlier can stop it there as well…” 

With that, the light begins to fade. Wild staggers, the world suddenly tilting, and he finds himself supported by Twilight, who looks equally faint. 

“Wait,” Twilight chokes, looking to where the spirit is retreating back into the water, tendrils of its light sinking into the flow of the falls to be washed away. “Wait, Ordona, wait… where… what do we have to do?” 

There is no response for a long time, the light of the spirit fading almost completely into the water, when, just before the spring is returned to its natural state, Wild feels a feather light touch at the edge of his mind again. 

“...my brethren are dying… go to them… the last... the lake... you will find it there...” 

And then it is gone. 

Twilight’s shoulders fall, the arm that’s wrapped around Wild to keep him steady tightening every so slightly. 

“Well,” he says after a moment, but doesn’t continue. Wild swallows, still trying to process the experience. 

“So… now what?” He asks, tilting his head up to look at Twilight; his mentor shrugs half-heartedly. “Do you know what it meant?” 

Twilight nods then sighs, his mouth quirking into an apologetic smile as he meets Wild’s eyes. 

“There’s gonna be a lot of walkin’… at least until we can get ourselves some horses.” 

Wild huffs a laugh and raises an eyebrow. 

“You forget that I spent at least five months just wandering aimlessly through the wilderness on foot.”

Twilight laughs, moving away and leading Wild back where their boots are lying in the sand. 

“Five whole months?” he asks, smiling. Wild shrugs, grinning as he fights with his laces. 

“More or less.” 

Twilight laughs again and Wild can’t help, but feel a little bit of the weight that’s been sitting atop his shoulder lessen, if only a little. 

  
  


* * *

They travel, on foot, for seven days and seven nights, making their way through the deep forest and then out across the Hyrule Field of Twilight’s world. They meet only a single person their journey, a fellow traveler who stops long enough to confirm their queries about the storms running the land ragged, before continuing on her way, spurring her horse onward as she disappears down the road. At night, they make camp in the shadow of the surrounding hills; Twilight tells him stories, not of his quest or the land, but of growing up in Ordon. 

“Rusl and Uli,” he says, his smile evident in his voice despite the fact that Wild can barely see him in the dark. “They’re… they were like parents to me. They,” he pauses, then laughs softly. “Rusl used to make up stories about how they found me… that a monster had left me on their doorstep or that a hawk had dropped me through the window.” 

Wild chuckles along with him, the image of a baby Twilight sailing through the open window of a house eventually causing him dissolve into a fit of full laughter. 

They should be more careful, camping out here on the open plains, but Twilight doesn’t seem too worried, so Wild follows his lead. The storms are not within reach yet, so the heroes take the chance to relax in relative peace. 

“I remember one day I wanted to run away,” Twilight whispers when their laughter finally fades. Wild hums, urging him to continue. “Colin had just been born and I was so annoyed with him that I packed a bag and took this old toy sword that Rusl had made me, and I just ran away one night, out of the village. The whole place went crazy the next day, lookin’ for me.” He huffs, and Wild hears him shift and sit up on his bed roll. “I went to the clearin’ and I climbed the tree and just… sat there for hours, ‘til finally Rusl found me.” 

“Was he mad?”

“No… just… scared.” Twilight trails off. Wild can hear him sigh. “He was so scared that he just hugged me, for a long time.” He pauses before starting again, his voice a bit lighter than before. “He built me a treehouse there, in that tree. I used to go there whenever I needed some alone time, away from Colin. And eventually, as I got older, Rusl and I just began addin’ more and more to the house, until one day I just decided to stay there.” 

“How’d that go over with them?” 

“They didn’t like it that much… they kept tellin’ me I was part of the family, and that I didn’t have to leave, but… I was different. I was always different; it was easier when I was younger and everyone could just pretend, but then I grew up and I just knew I wasn’t like the rest of them.” He sighs again, deeper this time. “Guess I was right, anyhow.” 

There’s no resentment in the voice, just tired acceptance; Twilight lays back down and Wild takes the opportunity to reach out and grasp his arm, squeezing it lightly before pulling away. Twilight hums in thanks, returning the gesture. They lay there, surrounded by the sounds of crickets, and Wild’s thoughts betray him; he thinks of The Wolf and it hurts. It hurts to have Twilight beside him, less than a foot away, and to know that something will happen that he has no control over. 

Wild has never been good at accepting these sorts of things; maybe it’s the guilt of failing, or the fear of failing again, but he’s never been good at letting go of things that are out of his control. Wild cannot control fate, but by Hylia he wishes he could sometimes. 

Beside him Twilight shifts, maybe sensing the sudden tension that has overcome his protege. Wild tries to relax, swallowing back his thoughts; instead he speaks, trying desperately to keep his voice light. 

“I’d tell you some stories of my own, but, well, I don’t really remember.” 

Twilight huffs and Wild has a moment of gratefulness that Twilight’s willing to joke about his past as much as he is. 

Wild doesn’t mind it, but the flashes of pity that he receives from the others whenever his past comes up often ruin the mood. 

A hundred years lost sucks, but if Wild can’t joke about it sometimes, he’s pretty sure he’ll go insane. 

Twilight reaches over, his hand fumbling for a moment, before poking Wild on the head. He almost hits his eye, but Wild only moves out of the way.

“C’mon, there must be some sort of story in that noggin o’ yours that didn’t get blown to oblivion.” 

“... Zelda used to make me eat live frogs.” 

“She  _ what? _ ” 

They end up talking into the blue hours of morning, trading stories and tales and Wild feels a little more okay and Twilight acts a little bit better. On the fourth morning they arrive at the base of a hill, Twilight pausing to adjust his pack. 

“Just over is Castle Town; we can restock and buy a horse.” He glances sheepishly at Wild. “I’d buy more than one, but unless you’ve come into wealth recently, the town horses’ll be far too expensive.”

Wild takes out his tablet, the harsh glow a sharp contrast to the soft sun of dawn. He grimaces. 

“I have exactly 204 rupees.” 

Twilight lets out a low whistle.

“What in Hylia’s name have you been buyin’, cub?” 

“Food. For you guys. Gluttons, all of you - I can usually subsist off of whatever I hunt or gather on my own, but since meeting you all, I’ve had to substitute with things from shops.” 

Twilight only rolls his eyes, muttering something about being able to afford a house, but not a horse, but Wild lets it go, despite the itch to correct him and tell him just how much wood he had to chop to achieve such a goal. Instead, he offers Twilight a hand to help him stand, pulling just a little to hard to make his mentor stumble as he gets to his feet; Twilight glares at him, but Wild only blinks innocently before beginning to climb the hill. He walks backwards, laughing as Twilight makes obscene gestures with his hands and mutters half hearted insults in his direction. He feels himself crest the hill, still laughing as Twilight scrambles up next to him; he’s about to comment on Twilight’s lack of grace, when the laughter dies in his throat; Twilight is staring wide eyed, out over the hill. 

“What’s wrong,” Wild asks, finally turning, but stops, frozen at the sight before him. 

Still smoldering, the remains of a city lay scattered below them, crumbled stone and broken wood the only markers where some houses once stood. Those still intact are just barely so; even from where he stands, Wild can see broken windows and caving roofs. There are people, alive and milling about in the streets, but Wild can see the haggard way they walk, and he does not miss the limp forms that some of them carry as they go. Next to him Twilight takes a step forward. 

“It’s…” He starts, but his words fade. Below, someone cries out, crumpling before the fallen form of another. 

  
_ Destroyed _ , Wild’s mind provides as he stares at the sign hanging loosely over the town’s main gate, splintered and singed, and it reminds him, painfully, of home. 


	11. Wind I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If this is the end, then I must ask myself if we have left enough to be remembered. Even now, as I write this down, knowing that in a few hours it will be all over, I wonder if we have protected all that we have well enough, so that the future may indeed still hold a piece of our hearts. 
> 
> I can hear the screaming now, and the great thunder and rush, and I am emboldened to ask if we have done something wrong? Were we too proud? Too curious? 
> 
> Or are the ways of a goddess too great for mortal minds to comprehend? 
> 
> The water has reached the temple. I am in the tallest tower. May all who find this know that I have done all that I can, though perhaps my greatest deed will be this passage - if even one person reads this, know this; 
> 
> I have dedicated my life to the goddess, and I have been drowned for my devotion."
> 
> \- Last passage of a Priestess of Hylia, circa. The Age of The Great Flood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! Graphic content. Some pretty morbid and possibly disturbing stuff discussed, so if that's not something you want to read, there will be a small summary at the bottom of the chapter.

The town has been decimated. 

“Hylia,” Sky breathes, eyes wide. 

Wind swallows back the bile rising in his throat and looks away from the scene; he lets his gaze lock onto a nearby branch, counting his breaths. He clenches his fists in an attempt to ground himself. 

The air is acrid with smoke and the smell of death, and his nostrils flare as the stench burns his airways; beside him, he can feel Sky shudder and turn away as well, tugging his sail cloth tighter around his shoulders as if to form a barrier between himself and the aftermath of destruction they both now stand before. 

“Hylia…” Sky moans again, the word choked and wet. Wind still doesn’t turn to look, the bile gone from his throat only to be replaced by a tightness so strong he can barely breathe. 

“Wind… we have to go help… help them…” Sky’s voice is weak, but there’s enough conviction in it to make Wind give a jerky nod, eyes still downcast. He feels a hand on his shoulder; he uses it like an anchor, latching onto it with his hand and allowing it to guide him forward. 

He still has not looked up by the time they reach what was once the town’s entrance, though the moans and cries of the townspeople fill his ears nonetheless; they are frighteningly sparse, and what few are present are muffled by air that is heavy with ash and grief; Wind finds himself frozen by the sheer anguish that threatens to overwhelm him. Sky seems equally shocked; his hand is rigid on Wind’s shoulder, knuckles white as they grip Wind’s tunic. Wind knows that he is looking at whatever remains of the town, but he can’t bring himself to do the same. 

He has never seen destruction like this. 

The destruction that Wind knows is that of terrible seas and tidal waves; he knows the dangers of a flood; how wood can crack and crumble beneath the weight of an ocean, or how an entire kingdom can drown and die in the depths of something far more primal than a dragon or a Great Fairy. 

He knows how a body bloats and bobs on the surface of the waves when a child wanders too far out, or when a fisherman’s boat capsizes in a storm. He knows what it’s like to grip the soaked hem of your neighbor’s dress and drag her rolling form back to shore. 

He knows what it’s like to lay someone out on a sunny rock and wait, because, if you don’t, they won’t be dry enough to burn. 

Part of him wants to keep it this way; knowing only the despair that water can bring and nothing more. To remain ignorant to whatever pain exists outside the confines of his village. Of the sea.

But he is not a fool. He is young, but he was not granted the naivety that most children are; it has been two years since he first learned that there are things beyond the sea that can cause pain. That water is not the only thing powerful enough to ravage cities. 

It has been two years and Wind is not a fool, so he looks and does not tremble when, instead of sea soaked houses and bloated bodies, he sees the crumpled form a woman cradling something that could have once been hers to hold and love and is now nothing more than a burnt bundle of cloth and bones. 

Another cry, harsh and guttural draws Wind away from the woman, and towards the center of town. 

Sky is gone from his side, and Wind finds him helping a man lift a wooden beam from the remains of a house; the man is frantic, seemingly unaware of the way the bloodied skin of his arm hangs loose; he cries into the cavern of what was once a home. 

“Elena!” 

Sky turns to look at Wind, nodding towards the opening. 

“Wind,” he grits out, struggling beneath the weight of the beam. “Kid. Inside. Get her out.” 

  
  


The inside of the house is dark; Wind keeps his hands out in front of him as he stumbles over broken furniture and the remnants of a kitchen. The man still calls out somewhere behind him, and he can hear Sky as well, yelling to other villagers. 

“Elena,” Wind calls and then pauses, listening for a voice in the dark. He bites back a wave of doubt that swells in his chest when he is greeted with silence and continues on, hissing as he feels broken glass catch against the leg of his pants. “Elena! Elena if you can hear me, tell me where you are!” 

Silence is his only companion as he continues further; he reaches what he thinks is a set a of stairs, leading down into the cellar of the house, and pauses. The area around him is blocked off; after a moment of feeling around in the dark, he confirms that the rest of the house is pretty much entirely caved in. 

If Elena was in one of those rooms, then… 

Wind stops that thought and focuses on shuffling forward until his toe hits the first step. He sits, sliding himself along the forth, careful to avoid whatever debri his been scattered about, and lowers himself onto the step. And then the next. The stone is cold beneath his palms. 

“Elena!” he tries again. He lowers himself down to another step. In the back of his mind, an old memory comes floating to the surface; it is murky and shifting, too fluid for him to grab onto fully, but nevertheless he is brought back to a time where he stood at the top of the cellar steps, Aryll clutched in his arms and swaddled in blue. 

“Link, it’s just a cellar,” a woman had said, her arm reaching out to him as he stepped away, shaking his head. He cannot see her face, but her voice is kind, if not a tad exasperated. “Someday, you might need to come down here-” 

“- in case someone decides to break in!” A man’s voice had cut in, strong arms lifting both him and Aryll up into a firm embrace, the rumble of his laughter causing Aryll to fuss. Wind doesn’t remember if he had laughed or not as well, the idea of someone breaking into their home too terrifying a thought to allow him such a luxury. The woman had scoffed, a name Wind no longer remembers falling her lips as she admonished the man. 

“-in case I need him to grab something for me. No one’s going to break in.”

She had been right of course. Outset was far too small an island for most thieves to even consider, but it hadn’t stopped him from rushing to the basement the night the man had returned, stumbling in his grief into the arms of Grandma. 

Wind remembers hiding under the stairs, Aryll in his embrace as always, and listening to the man. He remembers hoping that his words weren’t true, that the woman would come walking through the door any moment and gather him up into a hug the way she always did. 

Wind doesn’t remember her name; he’s not sure if he ever truly learned. Grandma had stopped mentioning it once the man had disappeared as well, his grief taking him somewhere far away, beyond the horizon line on a ship that Wind doesn’t remember the name of either. 

“Elena!” he cries again, and the sound of his own voice shatters the memory. He is answered by silence. “Elena, answer me! I’m here to help!” 

Wind stops at the base of the stairs and knows that no voice will answer him. 

He does not want to return; he’s never had to be the one to deliver such news to another. He’s not sure he knows how. So he sits at the base of the stairs and allows the man outside a few more moments of hope; he knows that it’s cruel, to delay the inevitable, but for all that he is not a fool, Wind is a little bit selfish. 

After a few minutes, he rises, knees cracking, and turns, feeling for the stairs behind him. He makes to begin his climb, reciting his apologies under his breath, when the sound of something shifting behind him startles him enough that he nearly loses his balance and cracks his chin on the stairs. Instead, he grapples for something to hold onto, whipping around, one hand on the pommel of his sword. 

There’s nothing at first, just the same empty silence form before, and Wind almost berates himself for having such futile hope, before there’s another shuffle, and a sniffle, and then a whimper trickles out from somewhere in the dark. 

“Elena?” Wind dares to ask, stepping forward. There’s another whimper, muffled, but loud enough that Wind finds he’s able to stumble over, getting down to his hands and knees as he approaches. “Hey, hey,” he says, reaching forward blindly. “It’s okay. Are you Elena?” 

He receives only another whimper.

“I’m here to help you,” Wind whispers to the darkness. “I’m get you out of here, okay-”

His hands close around soft cloth, pulled snuggly around a small form, and Wind lets out a breath of realization. 

“Okay,” he says quietly, hands moving gently. “Okay.” 

* * *

The sunlight is almost blinding when he emerges from the depths of the house, but the mild shock of it is made worth it when the man runs forward with a cry, hands coming up so that Wind can deposit the baby in her father’s waiting arms. Wind steps away from the reunion, shaking his head in an attempt to rid his hair of dust and ash, and looks for Sky. A woman has taken in his place in holding up the beam and he turns as she sets it down, sweat coating her brow, and walks towards where he assumes the center of town is. 

Sky is there, helping a group of people load a wagon. It’s only when Wind draws closer does he realize what the cargo is and he pauses, silent as he watches Sky gingerly tuck a limp arm back into place. The other hero’s eyes are shadowed by his bangs, but Wind can see the grim lines that appear as he frowns; the wagon ambles away and Wind waits until it rounds a corner before joining Sky. 

They stand quiet, a silent understanding passing between them as they survey the rest of the town; they watch as those spared by whatever caused the towns demise wander about, caught between cleaning up what remains of their homes and losing themselves to the despair that hangs heavy like a storm over the ocean. It reminds Wind of the way the air changes before a flood; the way the taste of salt that seems to never go away suddenly recedes, as if the sea is pulling it back from the earth the way it pulls back its shore line, before the water comes rushing back, taking any and all who dare remain its path. 

The flood here has already passed; the town has already been razed, leveled in a way that Wind is unaccustomed to, and whatever has been left behind is less of a shadow of what this place once was and more of a ghost. 

“Did you find her?” Sky murmurs, breaking the silence between them. Wind nods, looking down at his feet, before Sky continues. “I’m sorry I left. They needed help.” 

Wind makes a non-committal noise, gaze coming up to roam the skeletal forms of houses and people. 

  
  


They continue to help, salvaging what they can, helping those that need it, and offering their services to any and all who cross their paths. The townspeople are grateful, but, even then, the weight of their grief is overpowering. It only takes a few hours for Wind to finally crack, sinking to his knees beside the remains of a well. Sky appears next to him, seeming equally exhausted, both mentally and physically. He’s got a significant amount of blood on his hands, but Wind doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he watches as a group of children are herded by a young man, their faces pale. 

“What happened here…?” Wind asks quietly.

“A hoard.” 

The voice startles both of them; they both jump to their feet, whipping around with their hands at their blades. The woman moves back, fear bright in her eyes despite the exhaustion in her voice. It’s Sky who breaks first, releasing his grip on the Master Sword and letting it fall back into the sheath it was partially out of. 

“Sorry,” he says quickly, hands coming up to placate. Wind follows suite, trying to relax his shoulders as best he can. The woman eyes them both with understandable caution; she is gripping her arm and Wind can see the bloodstained clothing beneath her fingers. 

“You’re hurt,” he says motioning to the wound. The woman purses her lips. Her dark hair is matted with sweat and blood. 

“We all are.” 

Wind winces, but Sky saves him from having to answer by clearing his throat. 

“You said it was a hoard?” He asks, waving for the woman to continue. She hesitates, before nodding, the grip on her arm tightening. 

“A hoard, and then a storm.” 

“A storm?” 

“The hoard came first; attacked in the night.” She draws in a shuddering breath. “Burned the houses and took… took some of us. We tried… to fight back, but there were just so many. And they were so strong…” She trails off, her eyes wide and blank as she stares at the surrounding destruction. For a moment, she is completely still, and then her bottom lip begins to tremble and Wind sees the first tears begin to trail their way down her cheeks, leaving paths of clear skin through the grime that covers most of her face. 

Both he and Sky step forward at the same time, Sky placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder and holding her steady as she begins to fully sob. Wind glances around, but the other townsfolk are either unsurprised by the sudden outburst, or are too busy with their own trauma to truly care. 

“I’m sorry,” the woman is saying when he turns back to her. Sky has offered her a piece of cloth to use as a hankerchief, which she uses to wipe at her face. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” Sky says softly, rubbing a hand along her shoulder. “It’s alright. It’s alright.”

The woman shakes her head, stepping away. She takes a few deep breaths, before drawing herself up and facing them, her jaw tense. 

“Thank you,” she says and Wind ignores the tremor in her voice. “For offering aid and… for that…” She bites her lip, looking over her shoulder. “I’d offer you a place to sit, and some food, but… we have nothing.” 

“It’s fine,” Wind says. “We’re just happy to help.” 

The woman nods, though the small smile she gives them is apologetic.

“I’m sorry, regardless. We… if you’d like, once we’re… done… the people are meeting outside of town. We’ve been setting up a makeshift camp.” She gestures to her arm. “Some of us need healing… we don’t have much, but you’ve both been so kind…”

“Thank you,” Wind says gently and Sky repeats the sentiment. The woman stares at them, not quite smiling, before turning away and making her way over to where another woman is scavenging the remains of a small store. Wind purses his lips. 

“So a hoard and then a storm,” he muses, glancing at Sky out of the corner of his eye. Sky sighs, his hands coming to rest on his hips. 

“A hoard and then a storm,” he repeats. 

“Sounds pretty fishy.” 

“Sounds pretty bad.” 

Wind is about to agree, maybe keep the banter going as a way to lighten the mood, when something catches his eye; it shines in what little light filters through the clouds and smoke, glistening against the ruined wood around it, and his words become caught in his throat as he stares. 

“Sky…” he says, breath leaving him as he walks forward. He doesn’t touch it, the image of Naydra on the mountain coming to mind; it’s like a liquid shadow, dripping slowly to the ground as the wood it sits on is slowly eaten away by its mass. 

“Stars above,” Sky says, somewhere behind him, and Wind swallows harshly. It’s the same inky liquid that the ice dragon had spilled from its body on the mountain not so long ago; Wind grabs a nearby piece of splintered wood. 

“Wind,” Sky cautions, but he’s already poking at the black mass, cursing as the wood begins to smoulder. He drops it quickly, stepping away and looking up at Sky. 

“It’s the same,” he states, though he knows Sky already knows. “That means… fuck...” 

“Same thing. Whatever happened here, it’s the same as it was in Wild’s.” 

“The storm…” 

Sky huffs, bringing a hand up to push back his bangs. 

“Hylia, what a mess.” He sighs, crouching down to examine their discovery a bit more, before rocking back on his heels. “Let’s go to the camp tonight. We can finish up here, help where we can, but then I think it’d be a good idea to ask around; ask people what happened.” 

“You think it could return?” 

Sky laughs, but there’s no humor in it. 

“Hylia knows,” he says, rising to his feet. His knees crack as he does and Wind cracks a smile, his chapped lips complaining at the movement. 

“You’re getting old, Sky,” he says, eyeing his companion, but Sky only rolls his eyes, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. 

“I’m already old,” he replies and then turns to where a group of townsfolk are trying to lift a slab of stone. Wind follows in his wake, already rolling up his sleeves. 

* * *

“It was pure savagery,” the man says, his hands spread before him, palms facing upwards. “They were like nothing I’ve seen before…” 

Wind leans forward, ignoring the rock jutting into his thigh as he sits on the cold ground, and waits for the man to continue. Nearby, the woman from before is stirring a large pot of… something. Sky sits next to her, laying out some of the food other-Malon had given them and offering a portion of it to add to the stew. 

“They were huge - great, big nasty things - and covered in black blood!” 

Wind whips his head back around to face the man, who is now clutching at the sword laying across his lap. 

“They were… different. I’ve fought a monster or two in my day… never seen something like this.” He waves his hand, motioning as he speaks. “Jumping around. Screaming. Attacking anything that got close - even each other! And… then the storm came...” He shudders, drawing in on himself as he falls silent. Wind remains where he is, waiting for more, but the haunted look that comes over the man as he sits, eyes staring blankly at the ground, is enough for Wind to stand, excusing himself with a nod, and make his way over to Sky. 

“Are you hearing this?” He asks quietly when he gets close and wrings his hands when Sky nods. “Sounds just like-”

“Naydra,” Sky finishes, pulling a wrapped loaf of bread from his bag. He examines it carefully, before handing it to the woman beside him, who is politely looking away as they converse. “Aidith,” he says, nudging her with the bread. “Take this.” 

The woman, Aidith, blinks at him for a moment, but takes the bread in her hands, gentle, as if it is something sacred. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, placing the bread down beside a slim pile of rations that the townspeople had managed to salvage. “I can take it from here - you two should go get cleaned up.” 

Sky nods without a word. Wind ends up leading the way to a small makeshift tent, it’s walls of tattered quilts billowing in the cool winds that sweep over the hill. They walk past groups of people, displaced and despairing as they speak in hushed voices, curled around each other. Wind grimaces as he passes a group of children, huddled close to the withered figure of an old woman; he does not stop to ask where their parents are, a familiar and aching hollow growing in his chest. The sight of a young girl, no older than Aryl, tucked into the embrace of her elder sister as they sit, silent in their misery, is enough to make him turn away.

They clean up quickly, running dirty fingers through their hair and beating their tunic until the dust clouds that come billowing out are too much for the tiny tent to handle. They eat little, allowing the townspeople to take most of the stew and offered food for themselves. 

When they finally sit on their bedrolls, hunched over in exhaustion, Wind speaks, hesitant and quiet as he glances back to where the survivors are settling down. 

“We can’t do much more here.” 

Sky closes his eyes, guilt etched deeply into the lines of his face as he frowns, but he hums in agreement, gripping his sailcloth lightly. Wind takes it as a sign to continue. 

“From what I can tell, the hoard moved on after the attack, towards the next village. If the storm is following them, like how it appeared with Naydra…” 

He trails off, shuddering at the thought. Sky opens his eyes, looking skyward. 

“There’s going to be a path of destruction carved through this place.” 

“What do we do? Follow it?” 

Sky shrugs. 

“If we do, we’ll never be able to stop it. We’ll have to get ahead of it somehow.” 

“What about all the people in its path? They need our help!” Wind nearly cries, pulling back when Sky shoots him a pained look. “We can’t just fuckin’ abandon them!” 

Sky purses his lips and sits back, leaning into the palms of his hands. 

“If we stop to help everyone on the way, we’ll never actually reach the hoard… or the storm. We’ll be nothing more than damage control.” 

Wind grits his teeth, frustration welling up like the tide; it’s not fair. They’re heroes; they should be able to stop the hoard and the storm and save as many as they can along the way. He thinks of Elena, left without a home before she can even speak the words to describe how it feels. He thinks of the woman in town, cradling the shadow of someone who will never speak to her again. He thinks of the children on the hill, united in their solitude. 

“It’s not fair,” he says aloud, gripping the hem of his tunic. Sky huffs, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. 

“It rarely ever is.” 

Wind doesn’t know what ‘it’ Sky is talking about, but his voice has the same cadence of the adults of his village who used to tell him to ‘wait until you’re older’ or ‘someday you’ll understand.’ Wind scowls, turning to lie down.

He does understand. He didn’t get the chance to wait until he was older to understand; his understanding was not a gift given to him from the mouth of a parent on a day of importance, in the comfort of a home and a solid embrace. 

His understanding was the hot sand burning his feet and the wind stinging his eyes and the feathers still clutched in his fist as he ran, Tetra calling out behind him as he hoped, naively, that everything would be alright if he just went home; that Aryl would be there, instead of in the grip of a great monster. That Grandma would be there, with warm soup and a warm smile. That a woman and a man would be there, dancing in the kitchen, their voices mingling with the calls of seagulls and the steady thrum of the ocean.

But Wind is not naive. And he understands. He understands so fully that he forces himself to sleep instead of laying awake and lamenting at the unfairness of it all, shutting out the sounds of mourning or Sky’s heavy breathing and letting himself drift. 

He understands, but he still wishes, not naively, that it was not all so unfair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: 
> 
> Wind and Sky come across a village that has been destroyed by a hoard of monsters, followed by a great storm. They discover the same black substance that had infected Naydra, leading them to believe the events are somehow connected. They eventually come to the conclusion that the hoard and storm are moving across the kingdom and, to stop them, they will need to somehow get ahead of the destruction, even if that means leaving others in its path to fend for themselves.
> 
> Also, Wind is not naive.


	12. Wind II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Weary is the mind that gives up hope." 
> 
> \- Last recorded words of the King of Hyrule, circa. The Age of the Great Flood

Eight nights. 

They travel for eight nights. 

Wind doesn’t count the days, because counting the days means counting the cities. Counting the towns. Counting the storms and the monsters. Counting the dead. 

So he counts the nights, etching tallies into the hilt of his sword as he sits on his bed roll, ignoring the faces that float the surface of his mind; he doesn’t remember them all, how could he, but it doesn’t matter. He remembers the pain and the grief; the betrayal as they leave quicker than they came, staying long enough only to gather which direction the horde went. 

They had tried to help the first few times. 

“What more can we do?” Sky had asked, holding the broken remains of a dinner plate in his hands. “If we continue on like this we’ll never reach the horde. We’ll never beat the storm.” 

Wind hadn’t responded. 

On the seventh night they’d arrived just as the horde left; Wind had managed to spot the retreating form of a monster as it disappeared into the brush, Sky rushing past him with a cry, his sword drawn. Wind had followed, the cries of a ruined village at his back as he went crashing into the undergrowth, thorns ripping at his calves, only to go crashing into Sky as well as he stood in the middle of a small clearing, the horde having long since disappeared. 

On the eighth night, they lay back to back, a great chill settling over both of them as they try to catch what few hours of rest they can. Pressed close, Wind can feel as Sky sighs deeply behind him, the sound muffled; Wind turns slightly to see Sky burrowing deeper into the sail cloth wrapped around his shoulders. 

He turns back, biting his lip. 

“I miss the others.” 

He’s surprised by his own admission, as softly as it’s spoken, and he feels Sky tense and then shifts, clearly turning to face him. Wind does not do the same, choosing instead to stare straight ahead and focus on a set of distant hills; he feels a hand land lightly on his shoulder, but he shies away, curling tightly around himself, and the hand retracts. 

“I’m sorry,” is the soft reply, but Wind does not answer; he does not need the comfort. He does not need a hand on his shoulder. 

He bites his lip and closes his eyes, taking a breath through his nose. 

He does not need it. 

* * *

  
  


The morning after the eighth night, when they rise before the sun even graces the tips of the distant hills, is when they finally catch up. 

It is by accident, really; they’re just walking, Wind leading the way through a particularly overgrown forest, when an explosion rocks the world. Wind lurches, the ground beneath his feet slipping out from under him, and he staggers forward into a tree, grasping its trunk for support. Behind him, Sky crouches, eyes wide. 

The forest here is too thick to see through, the trees tall and dark, but it doesn’t take long for the sounds of screaming to reach their ears. Wind is already pushing away from his tree, Sky at his heels as he begins to sprint, dodging trees and brambles, and cutting down anything else that gets in his way. Somewhere ahead, the cries grow stronger and Wind grits his teeth, gripping his sword a little tighter as he pushes past the last boundary of forest. 

They burst into the open only to find themselves in the midst of chaos; Wind doesn’t waste a second, swinging at the nearest monster where it’s standing over the prone form of a young man; it’s caught by surprise, its fox-like face slack and eyes wide as it stumbles away from his blade, before it crumples in heap of fur and dust. Wind pays no mind to the man, already turning to rush into the fray once more. 

He leaps upon a moblin, its roar of pain reverberating in his ears as he drives his sword downward and into its back; it whips around, grabbing at him with meaty hands, but Wind only yells, twisting his blade and forcing the creature to its knees. It roars again, reaching back once more, but desperation makes its movements clumsy and Wind takes the opportunity to rip his sword back out and slice across the exposed back of its neck. It falls forward and Wind leaps away, monster dust flying from his tunic as he does, when a battle cry has him skidding to a halt. 

“Argh!” 

He swings around to see Sky battling two more moblins, the Master Sword a flash of silver in his hands as he parries and strikes with fluid movements; one of the moblin screeches, staggering back and flailing as it grasps at the wound across its chest. Wind is beside it before it can react, bringing his own blade down in a deadly arch across its torso. Sky finishes off his other opponent with a swift jab, the gleam of the sacred blade a sharp contrast to the blood of its victim.

Sky spares him only a passing once over before he’s charging away, straight into the hulking form of another monster; they go tumbling down and Wind loses sight of them as he’s forced to duck a swing from a crooked dagger, its edge only inches away from his face. He comes up to find himself face to face with another fox creature, its fangs bared in a vicious snarl. It swings again, the whites of its eyes gleaming against blood stained fur and Wind stumbles back, his sword raised. 

The creature cocks its head, as if amused, and Wind growls. 

“Come on then!”

They exchange blows, twirling around each other in a sort of wild dance; Wind finds it almost beautiful, the thrill of the fight bringing a sort of lightness to his feet that he rarely feels, and he smiles as he takes the upper hand, forcing the monster back. He blocks a swipe to his chest, sparks flying as the blades scrape against each other, and he shoves his opponent away, smirking as the monster loses its footing. Another strike has it crashing to the ground, Wind’s blade inches from its face as it blocks his attack with its dagger, using both hands to support its weapon. 

Wind grits his teeth in a wild grin, pulling back slightly to finish it off, when it happens. 

“He...ro…” 

Wind stills, staring down at the monster below him. 

“...what?” 

It’s like a flash of light, the sharp screech of metal against metal as the monster pulls away its weapon, and then Wind jerks as white hot pain lances through him, his opponent's dagger buried up to its hilt in his side. He staggers, knees buckling as he falls forward, only to be stopped by a hand on his chest; claws pierce the fabric of his tunic, digging into his skin as the monster holds him up with one hand, its other still wrapped around the dagger in his side. It grins from where it lays beneath him, a sick sort of laughter erupting past is black lips as Wind’s grip on his own weapon goes slack. 

He stares down at it, white dancing at the edges of his vision, shocked into compliance as the creature lowers him further down; he’s nose to nose with it, the hot stink of its maw bringing bile to the back of his throat. 

“He...ro…” Its voice is like the gurgling of a bog, low and broken, but Wind is so close he could not mistake the words even if he tried. “It… is to...o… l...ate…” It clenches the hilt of its dagger, twisting it deeper and Wind can’t help the grunt of pain that it ripped from his throat; he tastes blood in his mouth. The monster grins, fangs flashing, and Wind can feel it shake with laughter. Its eyes are blown wide and white and there is no color to its irises, only a familiar inky blackness. Wind jerks again, trying to pull away, but the hand at his chest tightens, claws digging deeper as he is yanked closer. 

“We… fol...low… it…” the monster says, broken and hitched. “...it… will no...t... sto...p… un...til… all is… des...troy...ed… to..o… late… her...o…,” and then it lurches, its back arching as a strained gurgle sounds from deep within its chest. Wind gasps, his hands coming up to grasp at the one at his chest as its grip tightens even more, rivulets of blood slipping past the monster’s fingers and down its arm. From its mouth, Wind catches the barest glance of black fluid, foul vapor rising in the depths of the creature’s throat, before he is thrown to the side, taking the dagger with him and landing hard in the dirt. 

The sounds of the surrounding battle suddenly explode back into existence, assaulting his ears with deafening clarity. Everything is screaming, loud and terrified, and, when he takes a shallow breath, his wound screams as well; he twists, agony forcing his eyes open and he sees, for the first time, the towering mass of thunderheads far above him. 

They rise into the air, lightning arcing in the space between them as they move, ever so slowly, away from the village, leaving dark skies in their wake. 

“We… follow…” 

Wind turns his head and the simple action leaves him weak; the monster is rising to its feet, eyes tracking the storm clouds as well, before it begins to walk, staggering in the same direction as the storm. Wind groans, straining to sit up, but instead his vision blinks out as pain rips through him, knocking the air from his lungs. He falls back, his head thumping against the ground. When his vision does return, it is blurry, as is the noise around him; he feels light, shaking even when the ground he lays upon is warm and red, and he finds that the best he can do is continue to watch as the storm disappears beyond the field of his vision, mixing with the shadows that linger there. 

“...shit…” he whispers because he promised Aryll he’d come back. “...sorry…” 

It’s a useless apology, but it brings him small comfort to say it. 

It’s quiet now. Wind shivers, suddenly cold. 

“Sky…” he murmurs, hoping he’ll hear. But it’s quiet, so he’s not even sure if he says it in the first place. 

It is quiet.

And then it is dark. 

* * *

_ The crowd surrounding him surges forward as one, and he is forced to go with them, stumbling as they push and shove against each other. Their hands reach upwards, grasping at the air with a sense of wild urgency. Some raise their weapons, in an attempt at better reach. He looks up as well, straining to see through the mass of bodies and outstretched arms, and sees the storm, a swirling vortex of dark clouds and lightning. The wind rises around him, buffeting his hair and tunic and the crowd roars, spittle flying as sharp teeth gnash together as the storm picks up, deafening thunder shaking ground they stand upon.  _

_ He looks around, peering through the gaps in the group, and sees only more darkened sky; they are up high, surrounded by shifting clouds.  _

_ For the first time, a sort of unbearable heat reaches him, rising from the rough stone he stands up, and the smell of sulfur hangs strong in the air. The monsters around him seem not to take notice, stomping their feet with every thunder clap, their weapons clashing together in a shower of sparks, mimicking the lightning that arcs overhead.  _

_ “Ri...se… ri..se…” A broken murmur breaks through the crowd and then, as one, the monsters begin to repeat it until the chant is almost as loud as the thunder itself. “Rise… RISE!”  _

_ He cowers, hands to his ears as the monster scream, and then something lands on his arm and burns through the sleeve of his tunic, his arm going numb with the sudden feeling fire; he yelps, turning to swat out the flame, but instead finds black vapor rising from his arm where black blood has begun to eat away at it. He cries out, swiping at with his hand, only for his pain to erupt on his palm as well, the skin blistering as the foul substance touches his skin; he falls, scrambling for something to wipe away the black liquid as more begins to fall, great gobs of it hitting his legs and back.  _

_ He screams, writhing as it begins to eat at him; in his struggles he looks up, eyes wide and wanting for some sort of help, and instead finds himself witness to a blood bath. The monsters around contort and scream, black blood bubbling from their mouths; still they continue to chant, their voices gurgling and disconnected as they crash into each other, each trying to reach higher into the storm.  _

_ He curls around himself, watching as the clouds grow darker, rain falling in sheets; it hisses as it hits the ground, instant vapor. He, too, can feel the heat beneath him, the ground here hot and red, but it pales in comparison to the sting of the black blood, and he wraps his arms around himself in an attempt to shield his body.  _

_ There’s another flash of lightning, the world illuminated in white, and then a clap of thunder so loud it feels as though the mountain will crumble; the crowd grows eerily quiet, waiting.  _

_ They wait for what feels like an eternity. The black blood continues to eat at him, his skin curling and peeling away, and he chokes on the blood in his mouth; it burns his tongue and the insides of his cheeks and he spits, desperate for breath. The blood is black as it dribbles from his mouth, burning a path across his lips and down his chin. He moans, too weak to do much else.  _

_ “We… ri...se…” The voice echoes in his ears. He can no longer see well enough to know where it comes from. “We… ri...se… we… foll..ow…” A low stomping shakes the ground as the other monsters join in.  _

_ “We… wi...ll… des...troy… all th...at… she… creates…”  _

_ His vision goes dark; his whole body throbs, in beat with the monsters’ march.  _

_ “We… wi...ll… tra…vel… we… will… sca..tter…”  _

_ He cannot feel his limbs any more. He’s not sure if they even remain.  _

_ “We… will… rea...ch the... hea...vens…  _

_ He tries to take a breath and chokes, his chest shuddering.  _

_ “We… will… la...y… wa...ste… to all… she ho...lds… dear…”  _

_ The voice drops away and only the sound of the wind and rain remains, a steady rhythm that courses through whatever is left of him, before the chanting returns, quiet at first.  _

_ “La...y… was...te…”  _

_ It begins to rise, more voices joining in.  _

_ “La...y... wa...ste… Lay… wa..ste…”  _

_ The stomping resumes, stronger than before. The mountain shakes, a roar piercing the air.  _

_ “Lay... wa...ste! Lay... waste! Lay waste!”  _

_ He screams, his voice consumed by those that surround him as they continue to scream, their words mixing with the storm, and then the ground is crumbling and he is falling, scattered in the air as heat and fire rises past him, surging up through the mountain and exploding with deafening force. And still the voices continue; he can hear them, even now that he is nothing.  _

_ “Lay waste!”  _

* * *

  
  


“Wind!” 

He jerks, body convulsing as he turns away to expel the blood in his mouth; he coughs, spluttering and gasping for air. His vision returns slowly, but, when it does, the blood on the dirt beneath him is red. Arms wrap around his torso, holding him steady as he continues to cough; his chest feels tight and he shakes in his effort to take a proper breath. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” a voice murmurs, somewhere above him. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.” 

_ I’m trying, _ he wants to say, but then he gags again and the thought melds into  _ breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe- _

“That’s it, atta boy…” 

“Ugh…” 

“Easy, easy.” 

He’s lifted, turned over onto his back; the arms still cradle him, tucking him close against the body of another, and he blinks until his vision stops swimming and he can see the worried face above him. 

“...Sky?” 

“Oh thank Hylia,” Sky breathes and draws him closer, resting his forehead against Wind’s. “You scared me.” 

“Sorry.” Wind says and moves away, blinking. 

Sky makes a broken noise in the back of his throat before pulling away, a hand coming up to push Wind’s bangs back and feel his forehead. 

“You’re warm, but I don’t think it’s true fever.” 

Wind hums noncommittally, and glances around. They’re in a small grove, quiet bird song the only other noise beside Wind’s ragged breathing. He glances up; the sky is blue and peaceful. 

“Where… are we…?” 

Sky grimaces, shifting to hold him better; Wind realizes belated that his wound no longer hurts. 

“I made camp; it’s only been a few hours. I needed to get you somewhere safe.” 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” 

It’s not that easy, but Wind doesn’t say that. Instead, he squirms a little in Sky’s grip; the arms around him tense, and then loosen. Sky sighs, helping Wind to sit up. 

“What happened to the horde.” 

Sky blinks and then looks away, staring out into the trees. 

“They got away.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Please stop apologizing. It’s not your fault… and I’d rather you be alive anyways.” 

Wind cracks a small smile at that. Sky responds in kind, releasing his grip on Wind’s shoulder; the sudden loss of contact is unpleasant in a way Wind can’t explain, but he pushes the feeling down. Sky watches him, an emotion that Wind can’t place flashing behind his eyes, before he schools his features and nods. 

“We’ll find them again. Once you’re completely healed.” 

Wind nods and glances down at his stomach; his tunic is torn and blood stained, but he can see no wound beneath the fabric. He smacks his lips; there’s a mysterious lack of bitterness in his mouth. He turns to look up at Sky, brow furrowed. 

“Did you… use a potion on me?”

“Uh,” Sky starts, glancing to the side where Wind can see an empty jar. “Fairy, actually. You were pretty… dead… er, almost dead.” 

“Huh…” 

Sky stares at him, incredulous, and Wind wonders if he should feel anything other than slight amusement, but something else nags at the back of his mind; he scores his memory of the fight, the event fuzzy in its details. 

“They can… talk…” 

Sky’s eyebrows rise and worry flashes in his eyes at Wind’s random proclamation. He brings his hand to Wind’s forehead again, but Wind brushes him off and stands up, ignoring Sky’s protests. 

“They can talk,” he says again, more sure of himself this time. “The monster. It spoke to me…” 

Sky stops in his attempts to get Wind to sit back down, his hand still raised as he stares at Wind in shock. 

“ _ What?” _

Wind stares down at his palms and the feeling of fire returns to him, as well as the sound of chanting. 

“They can talk,” he repeats. “And they’re following the storm to a volcano…” 

Sky stiffens and Wind remembers Sky’s story of his own dream. Wind takes a few steps towards his bag, kneeling to rummage through; most of his supplies is still there, though Sky obviously tore through it looking for something to heal him with. He sighs, biting his lip; he can still hear the fragmented voices of the horde and the pounding of thunder. 

“Hey, hey,” Sky murmurs, soft, and Wind jerks when a hand lands on his shoulder. Sky pulls back quickly, but remains beside him, kneeling as well. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll… go find someone to ask about a volcano.” He shrugs. “We’ll go… back to the last village and ask around.” 

Wind nods and does not mention that they’ll be back-tracking. Losing the horde. Ahead, over the trees, he can see dark skies in the distance; days away at best. He huffs, frustrated, and turns away from Sky. He can feel the other hero’s eyes on the back of his neck. 

“Maybe we’ll find the others,” Sky says quietly, though his lack of confidence betrays him. Wind shrugs, staring at his rifled belongings. He doesn’t need the comfort of falsities. 

“Maybe,” he repeats and closes the bag. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is officially a bit of an AU of LU - while this started out as a 'oh it can just fit in anywhere in the story or whatever,' with every update of the actual comics, I hesitate to keep saying that. So - i'm officially calling Lay Waste an AU. Whether or not it could still technically be a side story without affecting the main plot remains to be seen, but that is the beauty of fanfiction I suppose; I can still write this regardless. 
> 
> Anyways - I hope y'all are staying healthy and staying safe and, I hope, that this story can bring you a little of bit of joy (despite its angst) during this time. 
> 
> ~Ort


	13. Time III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Long ago, I wrote of a great beauty, a serpent in the sky. All who I have told have dismissed me as a rambling fool; so much so that I began to believe it myself. I fell quiet and stopped talking of such things. I stopped travelling. 
> 
> Yet, as I grew older, I could not help but dream of that creature; bold and beautiful. I resolved myself to one more journey, a journey back to that great stone, so see what I could find. 
> 
> I never made it; a storm shook the land and my trip was cut short. But it doesn't matter, for hidden amongst the clash of thunder and lightning, amidst the tumbling clouds, I saw it; it was different than the first, violently bright, and I watched with terrified wonder as it sunk beneath the clouds, only to reemerge like some great sea serpent, diving in and out of the storm. 
> 
> That was years ago. I am quite old now, far too old to travel, or to remain in this world much longer. But I am content, for I have seen what few have. Perhaps there are more out there, beautiful and terrifying; perhaps, wherever I go in end, they will be there. 
> 
> Or perhaps not. But the exciting part has always been the 'never knowing.' "
> 
> \- Erla, Former Traveler

Wild’s Hyrule is large. 

Time’s been here a few times before, with the others, but his time was spent within the confines of small towns, surrounded by high cliffs, or on short spurts between inns; he has never before seen the rolling plains and vast forests that make up the majority of Wild’s world until now. They are beautiful, in a raw and untamed way. 

He has seen nary a soul in the past five days save for a traveler that was intent on selling him bananas, a conversation he quickly excused himself from before continuing on his journey; it has been lonely, but the stunning scenery helps to distract him.

By the time he makes it back to Mt. Lanayru, however, he finds himself longing for even a passing moment of human interaction. He finds it in the town nestled in the shadow of the mountain, Hateno; he doesn’t stay for long, taking only enough time to procure a small bottle of milk, some dried meat, and a few more arrows, but the simple conversation between himself and the shopkeepers is enough to refresh his mind. Despite their fear and confusion over the prior storm, they remain friendly and welcoming to him; he greedily drinks from their well of hospitality. 

He smiles bitterly as he walks away, tearing into a strip of meat, and thinks about his sudden distaste for solitude. 

_ The boys have grown on me, _ he thinks and pushes down a rush of melancholy; instead, he makes his way up the road towards the small ranch. Brushing off the stable woman’s questions, he asks only of the horses’ welfare and for her service in watching them a little while longer, slipping her some more rupees when she agrees, before continuing on his way. He makes good time, determination driving him on at a steady pace, and reaches his destination in under an hour

He pauses at the base of the mountain; a sense of unease still hangs heavy over the peaks. Nevertheless, he steels himself, shouldering his pack, and begins. 

Despite his utter solitude, the climb is somehow easier this time. Lanayru’s icy slopes are calm; the sky is clear, disrupted only by the rare passing cloud, and the sun’s shine is blindingly bright against the white snow. Halfway up, he stops, breathing hard; shielding his eye with one arm and using the other to keep his balance on the small ledge he’s perched himself on, he looks out over the mountain side. 

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters. 

The memory of the storm is still fresh in his mind, the booming thunder and the howling winds taunting him despite the calm of the current weather. Staring at the slopes now, however, the true damage of the tempest is revealed; the mountain side is wrecked, a great fissure running down almost the entire length of it. Time grips the stone a bit tighter, his gaze tracing the path of what is now a large scar on the mountain’s face, and remembers the sound of stone cracking as the mountain was nearly split in two. 

A sudden rush of fear courses through him at the thought that the others may have fallen into the gap, but it is quelled when he remembers the Deku Tree’s words; they are separated, but not permanently. 

It is the comfort that that thought brings, however small it may be, that spurs him onward; his decision to come here had been a gamble - his thinking that, perhaps, he would find a way to reach the others if he went back to the place where they were separated. He climbs a bit more, following the same path that he and the others walked only days before, and stops when he reaches the threshold of the giant crevice, taking a moment to examine it. 

“Hylia,” he says without thinking, wincing as he peers over the edge. It is deep - too deep to see the bottom - and he takes a cautious step backwards, eyeing the ice at his feet.

His fingers trace the braids framing his face and he is quietly thankful to Wild for the snowquill tunics he’d purchased for Time and the others; a cold wind sweeps across the peaks, yet he feels nothing but the swaying of his hair. Even his exposed face is pleasantly warm, which he can only attribute to some sort of magic. 

The wind dies down and Time begins his climb once more. 

He follows the fissure, climbing along its side, ever wary of his proximity to certain death, until he reaches the top; the path here is broken, blocked by a fallen pillar of ice. Time pauses, testing its strength with a hard shove, before steeling himself and beginning to climb over. It takes a few tries, the pillar slippery and his limbs weary from his trek, but finally he manages to pull himself up and over, clambering up the last few steps to crest the final ledge. 

When he does, he finds himself face to face with a dragon. 

It does not seem to notice him, quiet where it lays, draped over the broken form of a large Goddess statue, but Time still stumbles back, crouching in the snow with his hand on the hilt of his sword. He waits, watching for any sign of aggression from the creature, but the giant takes no notice of him.

Time thinks, briefly, that perhaps he should go back; he is not equipped to deal with a dragon with what little supplies he still has with him, let alone one that destroyed an entire mountain side. 

Then again, the dragon is connected to whatever separated him and the others in the first place; it would be unwise not to at least examine it as a possibility to somehow reunite with the other heros. 

_ Magic _ , Time thinks with a hint of sourness. Dragons are magic. Whatever started this mess was certainly magic. Ergo, probably a good idea to find out more about the dragon. 

Taking a cautious step forward, Time unsheathes his sword, his gaze lingering on the talons of the creature, longer than the length of his body; the beast is beautiful, in a terrifying way, much like the rest of Wild’s Hyrule. Its scales, an array of white and silver and blue, gleam in the afternoon sun, and the crest on its head resembles the icy pillars that surround the spring. Time toes the shallow water, surprisingly warm despite the chill of the mountain, and watches as the ripples flow outwards, lapping at the head of the dragon where it lays, barely submerged. One of its ears floats on the surface of the water, bobbing softly with the disturbance that Time creates, but the creature itself does not move, quiet in its stillness. 

Time hesitates, before stepping into the water, wincing as it sloshes gently against his boots. The dragon remains ever motionless and Time pauses, examining it with a careful eye. 

It does not look the way it had when he had last seen it; granted, it had been in the middle of a raging storm, but, still, the creature here is peaceful. Silent. 

Time vaguely recalls Wild, amidst the onslaught of snow and wind, crying out a name. 

“Naydra…?” Time whispers, inching ever closer to the massive scaled head. 

The dragon does not respond, the only movement being the gentle rocking of its large ears upon the spring’s surface. Time reaches out hand, slowly, and gingerly places it atop the dragon’s brow; he waits, nervous and ready to pull away should the creature open its eye. Even through the gloves of his snowquill set, he can feel the freezing temperature of the dragon’s scales. 

When the creature does not react, alarm shoots through him. He presses harder, running his hand along the arch of the brow. He can imagine, when it is open, that the creature’s eye must be even larger than him, but the thought is replaced by an icy apprehension as the dragon refuses to wake. 

“Hey,” Time tries, tracing the ridges of the creature’s scales. He pats its snout, then pushes against it when nothing happens. The creature’s head lolls in the water and Time bites back a growl of frustration; he shoves against the creature, biting his lip when it doesn’t seem to work, before stopping and pressing his forehead against the dragon’s cheek. He grits his teeth. 

“Come on,” he mutters. 

The dragon lays motionless, even as another harsh wind passes over, and Time steps back in defeat, hands hanging limply at his side. He closes his eye. 

“Dammit,” he mutters and opens his eye to glare at the broken form of the goddess statue beneath the dragon. Its face is half submerged in the spring, serene despite the destruction surrounding it, and Time feels a well of anger form deep in the pit of his stomach, tapping into whatever simmering rage is already buried there. He purses his lips, quelling it with a deep sigh through his nose, and turns away. 

He glances at the body of the dragon, grimacing at the sight, suddenly sad in a way he cannot describe. 

He is frustrated that his plan has not gone as intended, despite there being little planning to begin with, but the death of such a creature radiates a sort of ill-defined melancholy; he runs a hand along its brow once more, careful as he traces the scales with his fingers, and wishes desperately that the others were with him.

“When did I become so soft?” he murmurs quietly to the dragon and allows his hand to fall away from its head. “I miss them, and it has only been a week.” He turns, leaning back against the dragon’s head and sinking to the ground, ignoring the unpleasant feeling of spring water saturating his trousers. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly and lets out a small huff. “I cannot help you. I cannot bring back the dead.”

Beside him, beneath the water, fragments of the fallen statue glimmer, the minerals in the stone catching the sunlight like the snow on the mountain. He picks one up, pulling it from the water and holding it in the palm of his hand. 

“Even if I could,” he continues. “I don’t know what good it would do either of us.” He hefts the fragment, turning it over. “I probably wouldn’t be any closer to finding my group. And you,” he lifts the fragment up, gazing at it with sore contempt, before chucking it far away and watching with grim satisfaction as it sails out of sight down over the ledge. “You would have to continue living in a world where Hylia clearly doesn’t want you alive.”

His laugh is a bitter sound, even to his own ears, and he shifts forward to lean his elbows on his knees. 

“I suppose I could go back to town,” he says aloud. The dragon, despite being very not alive, is a better listener than most. “Ask if there’s anyone who could help me. Wild brought us to meet ‘his’ Impa, once; I could try and find her again.” He glances at the clear water. “She should have something worthwhile to say.”

The dragon, as to be expected, does not respond. Time sighs and leans his head back, the cool scales of the dragon surprisingly pleasant on the back of his head; he closes his eye and allows his hands to fall at his sides, dipping beneath the water. Somewhere, high above, an eagle calls out; he peeks an eye open to watch as it dips low over the mountain, casting a sweeping gaze across its surface. Time watches as it dives, the beat of its wings kicking up plumes of white snow, and then it disappears out of sight.

The mountain falls quiet once more. 

Time blinks. 

Something floats by his head; he sees it out of the corner of his eye, lazily passing through his field of vision, and he slowly turns towards it with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

A ball of ice hovers in front of him for a moment, before disappearing in a soft poof of snow. Time watches in confused fascination, reaching a hand out to catch the falling flakes. He flinches, the particles impossibly cold, even through the magicked leather of his gloves. He shudders, suddenly uncomfortable, and then starts as a harsh shiver wracks his body; more balls of ice come floating by him, saturated in icy magic, and Time scrambles to his feet and spins away from the dragon. 

Its entire body is practically glowing, ice and snow peeling off of its scales and swirling together in a wild, winter dance. Time crouches low, wrapping his arms around himself, when a sudden drop in temperature nearly ices over the entire spring in a matter of seconds; he stumbles back, barely saving himself from getting caught in the freeze, and draws his sword. 

The dragon convulses as a mini snow storm is seemingly created from its very body. The wind picks up; Time’s hair is whipped by the rising gale, his braids nearly coming undone, and he grunts as he fights to stay on his feet. He watches, bewildered, as the dragon lurches, its body arching back as it bellows, its roar like thunder, and Time drops to his knees as the familiar noise nearly shatters the surrounding ice pillars. The frozen spring is split into spiderwebs, the cracking of its surface drowned out by the dragon’s cries; it lifts its body, impossibly graceful despite the chaos its causing, and Time is stunned into silence as it rises into the air, twisting to right itself as it turns to look at him. 

Its gaze seems to bore into Time, yellow eyes filled with an intelligence not found in simpler creatures, and Time finds a grim sort of humor in the fact that its eyes are, indeed, larger than himself.

The world falls suddenly and impossibly quiet, with only the whistle of the wind breaking the silence. 

They remain in a sort of standoff, the dragon hanging in the air, it claws opening and closing around nothing, and Time, kneeling in the mountain snow, cast in the shadow of the creature. 

Before him, still half submerged in the frozen spring, Hylia smiles knowingly. 

“Naydra,” Time breathes and the dragon tilts its head, gaze never breaking; it shifts, its head remaining level as its body continually twists lazily in the air behind it. After a moment it lowers itself, coming to a gentle rest atop the broken statue once more, and leans over, towering over Time. He stiffens, unable to tear his gaze away. 

Time is frozen. 

“You,” he starts, voice quiet. He’s not even sure the dragon can hear him, let alone understand. He swallows and tries again. “You… are not dead.” 

Naydra does not respond except to lean in a little closer. Time swallows nervously and bows his head. The dragon’s presence is overwhelming; it radiates a sort of power that Time has encountered few times during his travels. The Great Deku tree held something akin to it, though it was on a scale far lesser than this.

This is much greater.

This is as if he is once again in that white space, the princess stood before him with the Ocarina of Time held in the gentle of grasp of her hands; the energy that had swirled around him in that space, that had emanated from Zelda as she spoke her farewell and held that accursed instrument to her lips - that is what he feels now; the same power that had saturated place envelopes him as he gazes into the yellow eyes of the dragon. 

Time is lost to the steady rise of the wind, unable to break whatever trance the creature holds him in as he stares up at its regal visage, until Naydra itself looks away, tilting its head up towards the darkening sky; Time starts, his senses returning as he notices the passage of day into dusk. There’s a numbness to his legs, the beginnings of a prickling sensation in both limbs already forming as he slowly stands, staggering when he finally reaches full height. 

Naydra pays him no heed, its focus still trained on the heavens. Time watches as it turns, gaze never faltering, and makes its way to the back of the spring where the bottom half of the goddess statue remains standing. There, it finally looks down, a clawed hand coming up to pick at something out of Time’s line of vision. 

Time waits patiently, unsure of how to proceed.

When the dragon finally turns around, it is to present Time with a glowing object held firmly in its grasp; though dwarfed by the dragon’s claw, the object is nearly the length of Time’s forearm; he takes it with the sort of reverence one possesses when handed a precious jewel and blinks when he recognises its nature; it is a scale, shimmering and pale in the moonlight now shrouding the mountainside in a cloak of gentle silver, and he balks at the ice that frosts his fingertips as he cradles it closely. It weighs practically nothing, despite its size. He glances up at Naydra and finds the dragon watching him with an expression he can only compare to quiet curiosity. 

“...thank you,” he says mildly, wincing as the cold of the scale penetrates the magic infused within his gloves, and Naydra rumbles deep within its throat before reaching forward; Time flinches as a long white claw comes close enough that he feels the tip of his nose grow red from the chill. It taps the scale and the sound it creates is surprisingly clear, like the knell of a funeral bell; Time closes his eye and listens as it fades, leaving a tranquil pensiveness in its wake. 

The dragon pulls away as Time looks up once more, turning away and returning to its spot at the base of the statue, and a clear dismissal. Time waits, just to be sure, but Naydra pays him no mind. 

“What do I do with this?” He finally asks, somewhat annoyed. “How is this supposed to help me?” 

He receives no response, except an unmistakably tired sigh from Naydra, a puff of frost obscuring the air in front of its nose. Time scowls, gripping the scale tighter; part of him wants to throw it back in the dragon’s face, or perhaps down the mountain, but the rational part of him (The older part of him. The more experienced part of him. The part that he’s spent countless years cultivating in the face of seemingly endless trials) reminds him that disrespecting the gift of an apparently undying dragon is probably not the most responsible choice. Instead, he places the scale in his pack, nestling it in the folds of the rumpled clothing within, and steps back. Naydra watches him go, making no move to delay his course of action, and Time decides that that is permission enough to go. He bows, once, and then turns around to scramble back over the fallen ice pillar. 

The dragon and the spring disappear from view and Time, for the first time, feels a wave of exhaustion wash over him. 

The sky is devoid of clouds, the stars and moon shining brightly enough that the slopes of Lanayru are bathed in soft illumination; faraway, warm opposed to the cool light of the moon, the fires of Hateno burn with the promise of shelter and comfort. Time sighs, his legs already aching from the thought of the long walk down, and shoulders his pack; the scale, despite its strange weightlessness, makes his it feel ten times heavier. 

* * *

“It’s quite late,” the innkeeper says kindly, if rather unhelpfully, and Time blinks slowly against the urge to scowl. He rummages through his pack and produces a small bag of rupees, which he presents rather unceremoniously to the woman behind the desk with a yawn; she takes it with an equally tired smile. 

“I can upgrade you to a soft bed, if you’d like?” She asks and grins knowingly when Time nods, before counting his change and returning the bag along with a small key. 

“513. End of the hall, on the right.” 

Time nods his thanks and heads for the stairs; the inn’s main room is mostly empty, its only occupant an older man hunched over a table in the rear corner. He nods as Time passes, taking a long slug from his tankard, but says nothing; Time returns the gesture, the smell of ale and the warmth of the nearby fireplace tempting, but his feet protest as he slows and he decides that a warm bed is far more rewarding.

Upstairs he finds his room to be of simple accommodations; a bed, its wood frame sturdy and its mattress dressed in a rustic quilt, a small washroom, complete with a basin, sink, and working toilet, and a bureau. He hesitates, glancing at his bag, but decides that he won’t be staying long enough to warrant unpacking.

The washroom is a blessing; the basin, he finds to his delight, has its own spout and, after some trial and error, he manages to bring forth hot water. The steam is a welcome relief from the chill that persists from the mountain and he strips himself of the snowquil tunic, sighing as he sinks into the water up to his collar bones. There’s a small tray with a bar of soap and a neatly folded washcloth next to the basis, the cloth decorated with a pattern of stitched horses; Time smiles, running his fingers over the little steed, before taking the bar in hand and creating a fragrant lather in his hands. 

It’s the first proper bath he’s had in over a week and he intends to ring every ounce of pleasure he can from it. 

His hair comes undone easily with the help of the soap, deft fingers working through the braids, and he laments silently over its length. He’s pretty sure he’d seen a pair of clippers by the sink earlier, but he quickly abandons the thought; Malon is the only one he’s allowed to cut his hair in recent years, and he intends to keep it that way. Instead, he washes it thoroughly with the soap, revelling in the scent of wood and herbs, before doing the same to the rest of his body. He scrubs at his skin until it is pink, passing the washcloth over old scars and marvelling in bizarre pleasure at how much dirt and grime comes away. 

By the time he’s finished, the bar is mostly depleted. He returns it back to its tray, abandoning in favor of dunking his head beneath the water to rid his hair of suds. He remains in the basin a while longer, until his fingers have pruned and the water begins to cool, before reluctantly draining it; he considers filling it again, under the guise of getting a full rinse, but then he pictures Malon, her hands on her hips as she leans against the doorway, and the thought is quickly replaced by the search for a clean towel. 

He finds one folded neatly atop a small table, the drawer of which holds an assortment of colorful bottles. He uncorks one of the smaller ones and is immediately assaulted with a strong flowery scent; inside, a mixture of salt and herbs stares back at him. 

Bath salts, he realizes and there’s a twinge of regret he didn’t check the drawer earlier. He goes through the rest, idle curiosity getting the better of him; inside the larger bottles he’s pleased to find an array of fragrant oils; he cannot read the labels attached to them, the language of Wild’s Hyrule foreign to him, but the paper is decorated with simple sketches of what he assumes the ingredients are. He looks them over carefully before selecting one with a bundle of blue flowers on its tag, if only for the simple reason that the bell-like shape of the flowers makes him smile. 

He makes his way back into the main bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress impossibly soft beneath him, and he indulges himself in the oil, humming as he kneads aching muscles and joints. 

He finds a pair of soft bedclothes inside the bureau, simple in design and just a tad too short in the legs and arms, but comfortable and clean. He makes a mental note to wash his own clothes in the basin tomorrow with whatever soap is left, before blowing out the nearby lamp and climbing into the bed. The quilt is warm and fluffy and he slips beneath it with a sigh, burrowing down in a way that almost makes him feel childish. He lays there, staring into the dark. It is the first time he’s been in a proper bed since he and the boys had visited Lon Lon Ranch in his own Hyrule. 

The thought is sobering, putting a damper on the peace he’s so recently acquired. 

Despite that, the quiet of the room is welcome; it is not the quiet of the misted forest, but the quiet of simple tranquility, found in the creaking of old floorboards in the upstairs room of a rustic inn. It is the quiet of a sleepy town, nestled in the shelter of a mountain, home to a people whose peace was hard earned and rightly deserved. 

Time turns and presses his face into the pillow, drinking in the scent of fresh bedding. He feels oddly safe here. In the corner of the room, where his bag sits slumped against the wall, Naydra’s scale peaks out of the cover of his clothes, its muted light a dim beacon in the dark, and he stares at it as sleep begins to take its toll, the answers as to why the dragon had gifted him with such an item eluding him. 

He finds he can muster little energy to dwell on it though and, instead, allows himself to submit to exhaustion of the day. 


	14. Time IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "- and she bestowed the world with wisdom; gave thought to the minds of all the land's life, and delighted in its trials.
> 
> She did not care for the warmth or the light or the life that her sisters brought; enraptured by the ideas she planted, she watched them take root in the world of men and savored all the came from them, every joy and every consequence. 
> 
> Beware her favor, for, though it may bring you greatness should you fall under it, it is not for the weak minded; she will not grant you peace for you devotion, but endless hunger. She is winter, beautiful and cold; she is the white wolf, ruthless and a bringer of the prophecies of man; she will destroy you in your dullness." 
> 
> \- Passage from a religious book, regarding the Golden Goddesses

_ He opens his eyes, not to the wood ceiling of the inn, but to soft sunlight streaming through the boughs of a pine tree, its snow weighted branches bending over him in a curtain of lush green; he brings a hand up to touch the tapestry of pine needles that surrounds him and is gifted with a glimpse of the outside world as it parts. Crystalline white.  _

_ He sits up entirely, barely taking note that he is not cold, despite the snow that falls from the tree as he slips out from underneath its shelter and is greeted with a vast meadow, the precipice of which he finds him placed; behind him, pines, taller than he could ever imagine, gather at the border of the plain, their snow covered tops reaching so high that he has to crane his neck to see them. The forest is too dense for him to see through, but something tells him that, were he to enter it, he would simply wake once more in his bed at the inn and be none the wiser to his purpose of being here.  _

_ He is sorely tempted to step back into the shadow of the pines and ignore whatever deemed itself important enough to call him to this place, but a bigger part of him stays rooted at the border between here and there, the call to adventure too great to simply ignore; he stares back out into the vast stretch of pristine snow before him, untouched and seemingly endless and, in the recesses of his mind, a small voice whispers, encouragingly, about how satisfying it would be to take a step. To mar the beauty of this meadow with his own touch, if only to then revel in the mark he’d leave upon its visage.  _

_ There’s something else; a pull in his chest. A whisper in the back of his mind. The beckon of something far greater.  _

_ His first step is exhilarating in a way only a child could know; the snow gives beneath his weight, crunching in the best way and, when he lifts his foot, the mark left behind by his boot seems to echo a feeling of satisfaction.  _

_ Were he a younger man, or even a child, he might’ve run, kicking up plumes of snow and carving a path of wild chaos without thought or care; he is neither, so, instead, he walks with steady purpose, eyes on a distant grove of trees that interrupts the otherwise unbroken sea of white. His bag thumps against his thigh.  _

_ He does not bother worrying about how, beyond the meadow, he can see little of the rest of the world; vague shapes impress upon him the idea of hills and mountains, but the only clear forms are those of the giant pines that seemingly border the entire field. This is a dream, though, so it does not matter. _

_ When he finally comes upon the grove, he finds it is more than just a group of young trees in the middle of the meadow; the pines, small, but no less lush than those in the distance, surround a shallow pond, the middle of which is occupied by a lonely figure, locks of silvery blue hair tucked over one pale shoulder. The water is clear - he can see the stones that sit just beneath its surface - and surprisingly unfrozen; in fact, as he steps closer, between the frosted trunks of the trees, he notices steam rising lazily into the air. The figure, its back faced towards him, uncurls from where it’s bent forward over its knees and he moves back with the sudden realization that whoever is in front of him is stark naked.  _

_ He feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment and makes to walk away, when the figure turns and he is caught by their icy gaze; his eyes do not linger on softly rounded breasts or the delicate curve of their shoulders. Instead, he meets their stare with one of his own and is surprised to find their features startlingly familiar.  _

_ They gaze at him with eyes too blue to be of mortal descent (he has seen eyes like those before, in the faces of his companions, in the mirror in his bedroom) and a smile so soft he finds himself walking with shaking legs to the edge of the pond; he does not dare step in, though the heat of the water is welcome against the sudden chill that seems to overtake him as the figure stands and faces him fully.  _

_ They watch him, silent.  _

_ It seems like an eternity.  _

_ Their breath plumes in the air before their face, like smoke from a chimney, and his eye follows them as they take a step towards him; their movements are languid with steam, a soft blush dusting their slender shoulders and the tips of their nose and ears. They stop only a few feet away, but it does not stop him from taking in a stuttering breath; there is a sudden weight upon his back, pulling from his shoulders, and he steps back in an effort to steady himself.  _

_ The figure’s gaze never leaves him, their expression eerily calm, and he finds the weight increases until he nearly buckles beneath it; he reaches back, grabbing hold of the leather strap of his bag and pulling it from off his shoulder. It thumps to ground and falls open in a way that can only be described as inviting.  _

_ He can feel the figure watching him, still, as he reaches down and grasps the solid mass of the Naydra’s scale with both hands, frost coating the tips of his fingers as he lifts it up. It gleams in the light of the sun, its surface a myriad of dancing blues, and, with a questioning glance at the figure, he holds it out to them.  _

_ They quirk an eyebrow, the corner of their lips peeking upwards as they tilt their head, as if examining an amusing piece of art, rather than the scale of an ancient beast. He waits, ready to hand them the scale and then make a hasty retreat back across the meadow before they get any ideas, but the figure simply shakes their head.  _

_ “No,” they say, and their voice is like ice and snow and soft rain all at the same time, cutting him deep and soothing over the wound in one breath. “It is a gift to you, to use when the time is right.”  _

_ He doesn’t understand, but the figure seems to have very little interest in his offering, so he tucks it back into his bag; he does not take it up once more upon his shoulder, but lets it lay there, in the snow, and waits instead as the figure brings a hand up to run through their hair. They busy themselves with that for a long while, as if unaware of the passing of time or the fact that he is still standing there, and it isn’t until he speaks that they seem to remember him.  _

_ “Who are you,” he finally asks and feels no small bit of annoyance when they look up at him and then laugh.  _

_ “I lost the use for formal identities long ago,” they respond, an equal measure of amusement and sageness lacing their words. “Even now, the forms I take are those best suited for a given situation.”  _

_ He looks down at the swell of their hips and the bareness of their chest and then up again, at their eyes.  _

_ “I have a wife.”  _

_ They laugh, louder this time; it only grows when he scowls.  _

_ “Forgive me,” they say, but make no effort to turn away. “This is simply what has, throughout time, made mortals most comfortable.”  _

_ He doesn’t grace that with a response, simply turning away to stare at a tree over their right shoulder. A deity, he figures, and a rather annoying one, at that. There’s a sudden anger that dances along the edges of his mind, but he holds his tongue. He has a feeling his lack of love for those of higher power would not be welcome.  _

_ “Why am I here?” He asks instead, crossing his arms.  _

_ His question seems to sober them up considerably, their laugh subsiding and their smile fading into something more serious; they glance down at the bag at his feet, and then back to his face, though he refuses to make eye contact. They sigh, sweeping their hair aside to fall down the length of their back.  _

_ “A hero’s work is never done I suppose,” they say and then he does look at them, gaze meeting theirs as a look of true guilt paints their features.  _

_ They smile, though there is little happiness in the act.  _

_ “Forgive me, Hero of Time, for keeping you here so long… though I am steadfast in my belief that you need the sleep.” They nod to his bag. “You have received a rare gift - one that will help you, should you gather the rest of what is needed.”  _

_ “... and what would that be?”  _

_ “There are a great many creatures that roam the world you currently walk, though none so rare as your gift-giver.” They pause to brush snow from their shoulder. “You’ll find two more of similar caliber - though, I warn you, they are quite shy. Should you help them, I’m sure they would be willing to bless you with a gift of their own.”  _

_ He sighs and brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.  _

_ “Dragons. You want me to go and get more dragon scales.”  _

_ They grin and wave their hand through the air.  _

_ “I am suggesting you go and help the dragons,” they respond lightly. “And when, in turn, they give you a gift of their own, I suggest you do not reject the offer.”  _

_ “Why?” He asks and doesn’t care that his voice is strained with aggravation.  _

_ “There is a great darkness,” they start and he can’t help but roll his eye.  _

_ “Yes, yes, I know,” he cuts them off and sighs, loudly. “Hylia, I know; I’ve heard the spiel before. There’s a darkness and it will destroy everything unless I stop it and Hylia knows it’s never going to end, will it?” He drags his hand down his face. The ever persistent exhaustion that has plagued him since he first stepped outside his childhood forest seems to attack him tenfold. He hates this. “Just tell me what to use the damn dragon scales for,” he says and closes his eye. “I’m tired of running errands for gods who can’t be bothered to do it themselves.”  _

_ He waits, eye closed, for their response, but is met only with silence. He can feel the chill from before creeping up his back and he shivers, opening his eye to stare down at his feet.  _

_ “Boy.”  _

_ Their voice cuts through the silence like a shard of ice, and he lifts his head to see that he is almost nose to nose with them. He flinches. They are tall, meeting his gaze with little trouble as they bare their teeth in a cold snarl.  _

_ _

_ “Do not,” they start, voice low. “Let your hatred for Her infect your actions toward me. I was not the one that sealed your fate, Hero of Time. I did not carve your path or capture your spirit. I did not make the mistake that would doom you and your kin to lives of everlasting hardship. I gave you my Blessing, Hero of Time; I gave you my Love, to fight the hardships you endure because of another.”  _

_ They grip his arm and he gasps, their touch so cold it burns. The grove seems suddenly less inviting; a cage of trees surrounding him, growing ever more crowded.  _

_ “The blame of your existence does not fall to me; I did not raise my hand against you, so do not snap at me like some wounded animal.”  _

_ They release him and he stumbles back, clutching the spot where they had held him.  _

_ “You have been tasked to right what is wrong; to help those who have been brought low by evil, in return for the gifts they provide that will help you on your journey,” they say and scowl, strands of loose hair falling in front of their face as they bring a hand up to their chest; they make a raking motion across themselves, their hand like a claw. “Their sanctuaries mutilated. Their powers used and perverted. Creatures blessed by my kind - creatures of beauty and grace used for the purpose of something that finds such things detestable.”  _

_ He cowers slightly as they sweep their hand out towards him, an all encompassing motion that sends a blast of cold wind rushing through the grove. _

_ “I pity you,” they hiss. “For the life you and your brethren must lead… but fate was never my area of expertise. I warn you to tread lightly through its waters.”  _

_ They take a step forward, looming over him.  _

_ “And, when it calls you to arms, I suggest you make use of the wisdom I bestowed upon this world and listen to that call. You are a Hero, chosen by the Goddess Hylia,” they say and he flinches when they turn away abruptly.  _

_ “Act like it.”  _

* * *

Time wakes in a cold sweat, trembling beneath the quilt atop him, and breathes deeply in an effort to calm down; the warmth of the inn slowly seeps back into his limbs and he turns over to look at where his bag is still sat in the corner, the unmistakable glow of Naydra’s scale an eerie reminder in the dark of the room. He stares at it, emotions warring in his chest, before he lets out a long breath. 

“Fuck,” he whispers and pushes himself up to sit, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. The wood floor is cold beneath his feet and he shivers at the memory of an icy hand upon his arm. Outside the room’s single window, the sun has yet to make an appearance; he glances back at his pillow, still warm, but the lingering memory of his dream has him resigning himself to an early morning. 

Dragons. Deities. Darkness. 

He can already feel a killer headache forming.

With a groan, Time stands and makes his way to the washroom. 

A warm bath is tempting; he even gets about halfway through filling it when the steam rising from the water reminds him of the pond and the grove and a very unhappy goddess-thing and, instead, he just splashes his face with water from the sink and makes a hasty retreat back into the bedroom. He nabs a few bottles of oils and bath salts from the drawer as he does, assuring himself that they’re there for him to use anyways. 

He dresses quickly, stuffing the bottles and the still slightly damp snowquill tunic into his bag, effectively covering the glow of Naydra’s scale, and slips into a simple tunic and trousers, his former plan to wash his clothes abandoned. His hair is a mess, but he simply pulls it back into a loose, low bun, strands of it still flying free despite his efforts. 

He has neither the dexterity of Malon nor the determination of Wild when it comes to braiding, so it’ll have to do. 

The inn is quiet as he creeps from his room, slipping down in the main hall and placing his key on the desk, where an older man gives him a tired smile. 

“Early day?” He ventures, slipping the key onto a hook in the wall behind him. Time grunts, readjusting the strap of his bag. The man nods. “Sure you don’t want to stay for breakfast? It’s free with the room.” 

“No, but thank you.” 

He makes his way towards the door, still blinking the weariness from his eyes, when he pauses and turns back towards the front desk. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have an elder in the village, would you? Or someone who could tell me more about, uh, Hyrule?” 

The man raises a brow. 

“My wife is pretty knowledgeable… though I would ask you to wait ‘til morning seeing as most sane people, including her, are asleep right now.” He winks, but Time only purses his lips. The man seems to get the message and taps his chin in thought. “There’s an old woman who lives up the road… a scientist supposedly, though no one’s seen her in awhile. She likes to keep to herself.” 

_ Old woman scientist. _

Sounds about right. 

Time is about to thank him, itching to get moving, when the man swears and shakes his head. 

“Ah, no. She won’t be there now, though.” 

“Why not?” 

“Last I heard, she’d travelled to Kakariko village to visit her sister.” 

The name gives Time pauses, a hundred memories popping up, but he pushes them aside. 

“How far is the trip?” 

“A few days on horseback, I’d say.”

_ Goddess above, _ Time thinks, but thanks the man anyways, throwing him a few rupees as tip and then slipping out the door and into the street; Hateno is quiet now, the only sound coming from a house far down the road, where Time can see a silhouette moving in the warm light of a window. He doesn’t stick around very long to see who it is, turning to face the winding road ahead of him.

Part of him hesitates, wondering if showing up at Koyin’s ranch so early would be rude, but then he remembers that  _ it’s a ranch _ and any hesitation disappears from his mind. 

* * *

“Only you?” Koyin asks in lieu of a greeting when Time arrives, already in the midst of bringing feed out to her cattle. Her two dogs follow at her heels, wagging their tails lazily as Time approaches. 

“Only me,” he confirms and smiles as one of the dogs makes its way over, sniffing at his pockets. “Sorry, boy. No treats here.” 

The dog doesn’t seem too disappointed, content to sit and lean against Time’s leg as he turns back to Koyin. 

“My apologies for arriving so early,” he starts, but she waves him off. 

“No worries. You and your friends’ horses are all doing quite well.” She gives the nearest cow a pat on the flank and then turns to Time. “I’ll bring you around to the stables as soon as I finish here; will you be taking them all…?” 

“Just one.” He hesitates, before shrugging. “We had to… split up, for a little while. I’m headed towards Kakariko village.” 

Koyin whistles. 

“That’s a fair bit of riding.”

“So I’ve heard.” 

“Well, I’m sure it will go fine. There’s been hardly any danger on the road since the Calamity was defeated… well, except for the mountain a little while ago.” She smiles, shrugging. “But that seems to have calmed down as well.” 

Time holds back a wince and hums, thoughts flitting briefly to thunder and screaming. Koyin finishes her work rather quickly, dusting her hands off on her apron in a way that reminds him too much of Malon; he feels a pang of homesickness as he follows Koyin away from the pasture to where her husband is cleaning out the stables. He gives Time a gruff ‘hello’ and a small wave, but seems too caught up in his own work to pay much attention. 

“Here they are,” Koyin announces and Time can’t help the wave of relief that floods through him at seeing the horses safe in their stables. He makes his way over to Epona first - Twilight’s, young and feisty - and runs a hand along her cheek. She huffs and flicks an ear. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs quietly. “I’m not quite sure where your master is.” 

Epona doesn’t seem to like that answer, snorting and shaking her head lightly, so Time leaves her be, going around to check the others. While most of them had been rentals from their last stable visit, Time gives each of them some attention, patting their heads and giving his brief apologies for being away so long. 

Wild’s horse is last, straining to reach Time as he approaches. 

“There’s a good boy,” Time laughs, running a hand down the animal’s broad neck. The horse noses at his hair, lipping at some of the loose strands. Time shoves him away lightly, chuckling when Epona whinnies from across the way. “I thought you were mad at me,” he calls back and she snorts in response. 

“Do you want me to get her ready for you?” Koyin asks, appearing beside Epona’s stall. 

“Yes…” Time starts and then pauses, turning to look at Twilight’s steed. She’s watching him with far too much intelligence and he’s reminded so much of his own Epona, back at home with Malon, that he has to swallow back a well of emotion. 

But she is not his Epona. 

“No,” he finally says. It would be wrong. “I’ll take, err, Link’s horse.” 

Koyin tilts her head, questioning. Time nods towards the horse, patting its neck once more. 

“He’ll know the land better than her,” he explains. “She’s not from around here.” 

“Will Link be okay with that?” 

“Yeah,” Time responds, and knows it’s true. “He’s fine with it.” 

  
  


It takes less time than he expects for everything to be ready; in a matter of minutes, Wild’s horse is ready to go, already pawing impatiently at the ground. Koyin provides Time with a few basic directions. 

“The big mountain in the distance - that looks like it’s been split in two? Just head towards that. I’m sure you’ll meet someone along the way that can help you.” She pauses. “If you reach the mountain pass, you’ve gone too far. You’ll need to turn off before then.” 

Time nods, repeating her words in his mind a few more times, before mounting Wild’s horse and settling himself in for the ride. He checks the saddlebags for all his supplies, before turning back to Koyin. 

“Thank you,” he says and smiles when she nods. 

“Be safe.” 

“I will.” He’s about to leave, when a thought stops him and he glances down at the woman once more. “You… wouldn’t happen to know this guy’s name, would you?” He asks, running a hand through the mane of Wild’s horse. Koyin shrugs. 

“Something with an F, I believe.” 

Time sighs and returns the shrug, before urging the horse forward. 

“Thank you, again,” he calls back over his shoulder and Koyin waves.

  
  


The ride is rather pleasant then; he makes it out of the village and to the base of the hill just as the sun crests the horizon. Wild’s steed is responsive, if a bit mischievous, and Time realizes rather soon that the animal is confident enough that he can release the reins and sit back a little, trusting it to follow the path. In the meantime, he busies himself with watching the passing scenery- it’s still just as breathtaking, especially as the dawn’s light begins to paint the world in a warm glow - and formulating a plan. 

_ Step one - Visit the scientist in Kakariko village.  _ He tries to imagine a mental checklist, something that Malon had attempted to teach him when they were younger.  _ Step two… _ he thinks, and then falters upon realizing that, besides ‘ _ find more dragons and help them _ ,’ he’s not quite sure what other steps he should be taking. 

_ Step one, remodified: Try not to piss off any more deities; step overarching - applies to all subsequent steps,  _ his mind supplies with enough sarcasm that he has to admonish himself. The events of the dream still weigh heavy on his mind; a chain keeping him tethered to the concept of ‘respect for the gods.’ 

Rarely has he considered the ancient beings that fall outside the category of ‘annoying goddess with a name that starts with H who thought it was a great idea to reincarnate herself and an unsuspecting bystander in order to continually save the world.’ He has powers, sure; blessings that Fairies bestowed upon him that bare the names of goddesses often forgot among mortals, but he finds it hard to acknowledge them when another Goddess’ royal fuck-ups have made his life far harder than it needs to be. 

He is not like Sky. He cannot forgive the all-powerful so easily. 

_ _

The thoughts leave a sour taste in his mouth and he leans back in the saddle in an attempt to distract him from them. Beneath him, the steady gate of Wild’s horse helps to lull him into a sense of ease he is not so accustomed to. They pass by a grand tower, looming over the land and casting its shadow out over the sprawling hills. Time vaguely remembers Wild mentioning them in passing, though their purpose slips his mind. 

He wishes, idly, that he had something like Wild’s tablet to take a picture with, though he figures that, it being Wild, the other hero probably has a multitude of scenic imagery to share. 

It’s midday when he decides to break, finding shelter in the shadow of a tree. Wild’s horse is content to graze nearby, his lead tied to a low and sturdy branch, though he does pester Time for a bite of his apple. 

“Fine, fine,” Time says and relents, handing the horse the fruit as he turns back to the rest of his lunch. “You’re as stubborn as your master.”

The horse takes no offense, devouring the apple and then looking to Time for more. 

“No more,” Time says, raising his hands. “The rest are for later.” 

The horse snorts, but goes back to grazing with no complaint. Time watches, the peacefulness of the scene not lost to him. Down the road, he can hear the clip-clop of hooves, steady and slow, and looks to see another rider. He waves a hand in greeting as she passes and, not for the first time, relishes the anonymity he possesses here. 

It is not the anonymity of people forgetting who you are, but that of a people to whom you are truly a stranger; not a hero or a magic boy or a creature of the woods. Just a man and his horse. Time smiles and leans back against the trunk of the tree. 

“I need to think of something to call you,” he says out loud, glancing at Wild’s horse. The animal ignores him. “Something with an F…” He sighs and grins, chuckling. “I bet Wild told Twilight your name. Not the rest of us though; only Twilight.” 

The horse swishes its tail, as if agreeing. 

“F… something with an F…” 

A hundred horrible names and words pop into Time’s mind and he stifles a laugh at the thought of saying them aloud, much less using them as a name for the horse, before his mind finally settles and he begins taking it a bit more seriously. He’s somewhat glad the other’s aren’t here to see him acting what could only be considered ‘immature.’ 

“F… F, F, F…” He leans over to the horse. “Any ideas?” 

No response. 

“Right, right, I understand.” He drags a hand through the grass beside him, watching as it folds beneath his palm before springing back upright. “... what about  _ Friend. _ ” He glances up at the horse. “We’re friends right? That could be a good thing to call you.” 

The horse tilts his head, sniffing at Time’s hair again; Time moves away before the animal gets any ideas that may result in an unsightly bald spot. 

“... Friend it is.” He stands, clapping his hands together. “Well, now that that’s settled, let’s get going before it gets dark.” 

They continue towards the split mountain, travelling until the sun begins to set and even then some, stopping only when Time finds himself unable to see more than 20 feet ahead. He wavers at the thought of camping on the road alone, but the only stable is but a cluster of blurred lantern light in the distance, too close to the base of the mountain to be on the way. A traveler a few miles back had pointed Time north, citing a fork in the road still a little ways away. 

“Guess we’re going to rough it for the night, Friend,” Time sighs and pats the horse’s shoulder. Friend, fortunately, seems unbothered by the thought and, after a bit of searching, Time manages to find the remains of an old building, a little ways off the road. 

_ “There’s ruins everywhere in my Hyrule,” Wild had explained once when their group had been traversing an old temple in Warrior’s world. “Not big like this… I mean a few are, but it’s mostly just houses and barracks and old stores.”  _

Time stares at the ruined pieces of an old table, crushed beneath the collapsed ceiling of the house, before turning away to tie up Friend to a nearby post. He doesn’t dwell on the stories Wild had revealed, told in halting sentences and rarely ever finished; he’s seen and heard enough about this land to know that the Calamity, as little as he knows about it, was more than just a single man with evil power. It was destruction, in the purest sense of the word. 

His night in the house is eery, a stark contrast to his time at the inn, but, at least this time, he is not plagued by dreams and deities, but by the incessant snoring of Friend; it is a strange experience to say the least, but, when morning comes, he finds that being woken by the horse is a far more pleasant experience.

“Next time,” he mutters as he climbs into the saddle. “You’re sleeping at least 15 feet away.” 

  
  


The rest of the journey in uneventful; a few more directions from passing travelers, a chance encounter with another banana seller (Friend snorts and paws and makes enough of a fuss that Time moves on before any conversation can be had) and then the fields turn to hills and then the hills turn to cliffs, rising up around him so that he can only see a sliver of blue sky overhead. 

Miniature waterfalls, quiet and serene, spill from cracks in the canyon walls, creating small pools along the path; Time can see frogs milling about in the shallow water. Friend slows to a walk, giving Time just enough time to catch a glimpse of a Korok, sitting on a small ledge; he does a double take as they pass, blinking as the little creature waves at him excitedly. He raises a hand in return. 

He doesn’t even realize that they’re close to their destination until a wooden archway comes into view, decorated with red flags and banners. Time pulls back on Friend’s reins, waiting; he can see the village beyond, clusters of red roofed buildings scattered among grassy hills. He can hear another, larger, waterfall nearby, as well as the clucking of cuccos. A horse whinnies. 

There are no voices. 

A quick glance at the sky tells him its midday, but the unmistakable sound of chatter and townspeople is absent here. 

Time leans forward, running a hand down Friend’s neck. 

“What do you think?” 

The horse huffs. 

“Yes. Definitely strange.” 

Time takes a deep breath, straightening back up. 

“Alright,” he mutters and urges Friend forward. They take it slow; passing over a small bridge and then making their way down the sloped dirt path, into the heart of the village. Time takes note of every passing house and building; the doors are all the shut, the shutters closed. 

He sees no sign of life, save for the many cuccos milling about and a white horse with a golden bridal, tied to a post, until the largest building in the village comes into view: it is guarded by two solemn looking Sheikah. The sight sends a bolt of electricity up his spine and he worries his hands at the reins, unsure of what he’s gotten himself into. Neither seem to notice him; rather unguard-like, they stand at the base of a large stairway, leading up to the porch of the building. Both are staring at the ground, each gripping a sword with white-knuckled fists. Time stops Friend, pausing just at the edge of the large open space that makes up what he assumes in the town square, and watches as the guards shift restlessly on their feet. 

It’s when one looks up, his eyes passing over Time the first time, only for his head to come whipping back around, that Time realizes that the wait is over. The guard hefts his weapon, the other following close behind, and takes up stance. Time grimaces at the sight, a part of him disappointed, and raises his hands in a sign of peace, about to speak when the door to the large building slams open and a young woman comes rushing out onto the porch.

“Link?” 

Both guards turn to look at her, one stepping up onto the stairway with a hand outstretched. 

“Princess-” he starts, but the woman ignores him, racing down the steps and pushing past the other guards only to come to a sudden stop in the middle of the square. She’s staring at Time with an expression of confusion and then disappointment. She is dressed like a traveler, though the fine blue fabrics that make up her clothing say otherwise.

“You’re… not Link.” 

Time blinks, the phrase wrong in a hundred ways, but doesn’t correct her; instead, he dismounts, keeping a strong grip on Friend’s lead and steps forward, glancing at the guards as he kneels before the woman and offers a hand. 

“I’m afraid not.” 

She does not take his hand, nor does she turn away, staring at him as if he is a creature of another world; she is not entirely wrong, he thinks. 

“You have his horse,” she says plainly. Her voice is all singsong and accented; it is like Wild’s, though she speaks with an eloquence that only few of a certain upbringing possess. Time looks back to where Friend is eyeing a nearby row of shrines, and the apples placed upon their pedestals. 

“No, but I am a friend.” 

“Link doesn’t have any friends.” 

Ouch. 

“Um,” he responds dumbly and stands, wincing as his knees crack. The woman regards him with suspicion, but still does not turn away, or even command the guards to attack. “You’re Princess Zelda, yes?” 

She raises an eyebrow, but does not deny the claim. Time purses his lips. This is Wild’s Zelda, then; he’s not met her before, despite hearing many  _ interesting  _ stories, and he finds himself at a sudden loss of what to do. She’s still watching him, wary and clearly unwilling to just let him leave, so he resolves himself to having to explain things. 

“Listen, this is going to sound very strange, but, seeing as you’re the princess and, presumably, friends with Wil-” He winces. “Uh, Link, you should have no issue understanding that the world is a crazy place and strange things happen.” 

He can see that she catches his slip, mouth drawing into a tight line, but she remains silent, so he continues, though not before casting a sideways glance to where the two guards are watching them like hawks. 

“I’m… Link?” 

_ This is easier when we’re all together _ , he thinks as she gives him a look of pure disbelief. He shifts on his feet, debating his next words. 

“I’m not…  _ your  _ Link, but I am  _ a  _ Link? ...To be honest, I’ve never had to actually explain this to someone alone before; we’re usually all together.” 

“All together?” 

Time sighs and runs a hand through his hair, feeling slightly defeated. Zelda is still staring at him as if he’d just appeared out of thin air and stepped in her lunch at the same time; she’s gripping the hem of her tunic with both hands and, while her face is set in a grim mask of cautious apathy, the anxiety in her eyes betrays her. 

She is young, like Wild, but he can tell that she’s seen enough for more than one lifetime. It is an unfortunate side effect, he thinks, of being favored by the Goddess. 

“Listen,” he says finally and lets his shoulders drop in a way he hopes is non threatening. “I don’t… I don’t know how much your Link has told you; if he’s written or sent you anything about all of us-” 

“I’ve received nothing,” she says softly and now she’s looking at him like he’s just killed her pet dog. She brings a hand to mouth, fingers gently resting at her chin. “You… know where Link is?”

Time stares at her, thoughts warring on how to respond, when a harsh cry saves him the trouble of having to speak; Zelda jumps, whipping around to face the guards, who are both staring up at the large building. 

“Oh no,” Zelda murmurs and then she’s off, taking the steps two at a time and disappearing into the building. Time doesn’t have a chance to ask what’s happening as both guards follow quickly in her wake, clamoring up the stairway with far less grace. Time watches them as they, too, make their way inside and then he is alone again, with Friend. 

The horse offers little guidance on what to do next, so Time leaves him tied to the archway at the bottom of the stairwell, just out of reach of the apples. 

“I feel like that would be rude,” he says to Friend, who only stares forlornly at the fruit as Time begins climbing the steps as well; inside, he can hear hushed voices, charged with emotion, and he pauses at the entrance before knocking lightly and peeking in.

Heads swivel to look at him and he’s met with a cluster of teary-eyed Sheikah and one rather upset looking Princess Zelda; she gaps at him and then steps forward, anger flashing behind her eyes. 

“Excuse me-” 

“I am  _ so _ sorry,” he says, backing up, and then notices the woman in the center of the room, lying in a bed that is clearly not meant to be there, moved down to accommodate her. She is old, that much is clear, her fine white hair pulled back in simple buns, revealing the symbol of the Sheikah etched into her forehead. She watches him, her eyes, though clouded with age, following his every move and he feels a strange pull towards as he steps through the doorway fully, ignoring the protests from the guards. 

“Are you… the scientist…?” 

There’s silence and then a small cough from beside the old woman and Time meets the gaze of a girl who can’t be more than 10, her eyes obscured by comically oversized glasses. 

“That would be me,” she says, though it’s phrased like a question; her voice wobbles as she says it and he notices that she’s gripping the elder woman’s hand, her cheeks and nose red from crying. His confusion only grows, but he steps back anyways, shaking his head. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here, I-” 

“No, no,” says a voice, gravelly and thin, and the woman in the bed sits up slightly, her entire body shaking; she nods to him regardless, ignoring the way her companions protest at her movements. “I’m sure you’re very much meant to be here, Hero.” 

Time feels his brain stall along with everyone else’s in the room, but the woman only continues. 

“The scientist you’re looking for is my sister, Purah,” she says and coughs, gesturing weakly to the young girl beside her. 

Time watches, wincing as she brings her hand to her chest and takes in a wheezing breath, before giving him a knowing smile, nearly all gums. 

“My name is Impa. And, as you can see,” she says, nodding to herself. “I am currently in the middle of dying.” 


	15. Legend I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Delight in the fruit of the forest, but gorge yourself and become a victim to whatever lurks within. A wild animal takes no care to warn you of its presence; it is not some tamed dog, to bark when you draw close, but a creature far older than any man ought to be - it is generation upon generation of fear, and I have found, in my research, that only the truly dense go looking for trouble in the woods."
> 
> \- History Man

He’s dying. 

He draws a shuddering breath only to find that his lungs come up short, the weight upon his chest bearing down on him like a bear and refusing to let up. He struggles, hands grappling for something in the dirt to grab hold on, but finds nothing but loose soil beneath his fingertips. There’s screaming in his ear, shrill and horrid; his assailants grab at his tunic, pulling and tearing at the fabric like rabid dogs, and he lets out a choked moan when he hears the seams begin to pop. Something grabs a hold of his leg and he kicks weakly, unable to free himself.

His head pounds, throbbing with every cry and piercing laugh, and he closes his eyes in hopes that it will be over soon. 

“Please,” he hears someone moan and it takes him only a moment to realize it is his own voice, weak and raspy; something jabs into his stomach and he yelps, trying to twist away, only to be held in place. He cracks his eyes open, vision blurry; above him, the sky is blue and cloudless and he is reminded of the sky over the ocean. He can almost hear seagulls, the screeching of his attackers mixing with his imagination, and he bites back another yell as the weight on his chest increases, his ribs protesting. 

He blinks, trying to maintain what little composure he has, and, when he reopens his eyes, the blue of the sky is interrupted by a lone, tall figure; he reaches up, struggling against the forces trying to keep him down. 

“Please,” he tries again and extends an open hand towards the figure; he can feel tears in his eyes. The figure cocks its head, its strong arms crossed over its chest, but does nothing to help him. 

His head falls back, defeated, and he turns away to try and bury his face in the dirt, resigned to his fate. 

“Oh, come on,” he hears, the voice cutting through the cacophony of screams, and then the weight on his chest is lifted and he looks up to see Warriors above him, holding a small child by the scruff of her collar. He rolls his eyes down at Legend. “Quit being so dramatic.”

Legend sighs and winces as the child in Warriors’ grip wriggles loose and throws herself over Legend again, giggling along with her playmates as they continue their assault. One of them attempts to pull his sword from his belt and that’s when he calls it quits; he sits up abruptly, pointedly ignoring the way the kids complain as he stumbles to his feet, and snatches his hat back from a young boy, smirking when the kid pouts. 

“Alright,” he declares and stretches. “Enough of that.”

The kids all whine, some even stomping their feet, as their playtime comes to an end. Around, the small town is bustling with vendors and villagers going about their afternoon routine. It’s peaceful, save for the group of children that have unanimously decided to make Legend their unwilling playmate. 

One little girl remains attached to Legend’s leg, her auburn hair all flyaways and loose strands from where it’s escaped from her ribbons; she looks up at him with wide eyes, her chin resting on his thigh. 

“Please play more,” she whimpers, small hands clutching the fabric of his tunic even tighter. Legend smiles softly, reaching out to tuck some her hair back into place. 

“I can’t,” he admits and feels his heart squeeze when he sees tears begin to gather. “But,” he says and tilts her chin up. “I promise that once I’m done talking with my friends, I’ll come back over.” 

“Promise?” She asks, rubbing her eyes with a small fist. 

“Promise,” he replies, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away a stray tear, and then straightens up, smiling as he watches her trot back over to the group of village children. She looks back once more, waving at him, before joining in on whatever new game has captured the group’s attention. Legend watches them for a moment, before stuffing his hands in his pockets and making his way over to where Warriors, Four, and Hyrule are all bent over a map, the large piece of parchment spread out over the ground; it’s different from the one Malon had gifted them, the result of Legend’s horse getting just a bit too curious and a bit too hungry. 

Without a map they had wandered aimlessly, going East of the mountain in hopes of finding someplace to stop and sort themselves out; the little village they’d come upon wasn’t necessarily the most exciting of places, but at least they’d been given an opportunity to stop and rest.

The new map’s owner, a young traveler, stands nearby, leaning against his horse with what looks like mild fascination as he watches the group of heroes deliberate. 

Legend arrives just as Four sits back with a frustrated sigh, rubbing at his temples. Legend leans over, gaze drifting over the various towns and landmarks on the parchment, before he turns to Four and raises an eyebrow. 

“Not going well?”

Four shakes his head rather dejectedly, standing with a groan; his joints crack audibly and he rolls his neck, wincing. 

“We’re just not sure where to go…” Hyrule supplies from where he’s still kneeling in the dirt; he points a finger to a small scribble of black ink, glancing up at Legend. “This is where we are, right near the edge of the woods.” 

Legend hums thoughtfully and crouches down as well. 

“The Lost Woods…? Sounds ominous.”

The rest of the group hums in various degrees of agreement.

“That’s what the people here call it, at least,” Four supplies, gesturing to the map.

“Still can’t convince you on the volcano thing, huh?” Legend ventures, but he knows it’s a lost cause; he tries not to show his disappointment when Hyrule just rolls his eyes and then nods to the traveler a few feet away. 

“That’s Laru - he was just there a few days ago. He says he didn’t see anything amiss.” Hyrule turns back to the map. “So I don’t think it’d be any use to waste time checking it out for ourselves.” 

Legend blinks and then turns to look back at the young man, motioning for him to come over. 

“You were up by Death Mountain,” Legend says when he approaches, more of a statement then a question, and the man, Laru, nods. His dark hair, nearly as long as Wild’s, lays over his shoulder in a messy braid and he plays with it nervously as he kneels down beside the group. 

“I’m a history man,” he explains and then blushes, looking down with a small laugh. “Or… at least I hope to be some day.” 

He releases his hair to pull a small notebook from his bag and hand it to Legend, who takes it after a moment of hesitation. Legend runs his hands over the cover. The leather is worn from use, while the spine is cracked and fraying, but the book is obviously well cared for; the pages are filled with rows and rows of neat writing, interspersed with detailed sketches and the occasional pressed flower. 

Beside him, he can hear Four introducing him to Laru, but makes no move to acknowledge it, even when Laru makes a strange noise at his ‘name.’ 

Instead, Legend flips through the notebook, pleasantly surprised that he can understand most of the language, and finds himself staring down at a beautiful sketch of a volcanic mountainside, along with notes denoting the weather patterns, local flora, and even the types of rocks to be found in the area.

“This is incredible,” he murmurs, turning the page to reveal a small map of the mountain, complete with labeled rock formations and lava paths. Laru blushes even deeper and shrugs, reaching up a hand to scratch behind his neck before gently taking the book back. 

“I’m trying to document all of Hyrule,” he explains quickly, opening his pack to reveal more notebooks of similar conditions. “I visited Death Mountain last month - I’ve been staying in the nearby Goron settlement. I left two days ago.” 

“Is it that quick of a trip?” Legend asks, his hope rising, but it falls once more when Laru shakes his head, placing his notebook back in his bag. 

“Not really,” he says. “I travelled all through the days and then last night as well. Haven’t slept in over 30 hours.” He yawns, as if to emphasise the statement. “I could have stopped at Kakariko Village, but I wanted to make it in time for the full moon.”

“Full moon?”

“It’s supposed to be beautiful over the Lost Woods and this one would be the first clear sky in months. I’ve dreamed of recording the experience for a long while now - I didn’t want to miss it.” 

“Hylia,” Legend mutters and turns back towards the map. “You’re really dedicated.” 

“It’s what I love to do.” 

Legend hums, his attention focused back on their current situation; Warriors is taking notes in his own notebook and, when he leans over for a better look, Legend realizes that the other hero is trying to copy down the map to the best of his ability. 

“There’s no way you’re going to be able to copy that whole thing,” he says and purses his lips when Warriors grumbles something rather profane under his breath and looks at him annoyed grunt, giving Legend a glare that dares him to come up with a better suggestion. He has none, but, luckily, he’s saved from admitting it when Laru stands and walks around to peer over Warriors shoulder, down at his poor attempt to recreate the map. 

“Where are you guys headed exactly?” 

“Not sure,” Warriors admits with a sigh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Laru shoots him a look of confusion, then turns to the rest of them. Legend shrugs; there’s not much more he could say to clarify, without explaining the entire situation, and he’s not about to drag some unsuspecting bystander into this mess. 

Unfortunate, considering Laru apparently has other plans. 

“Well,” the man starts and motions to his horse. “If you want, you could travel with me. I’m heading towards Castle Town tomorrow morning. I need to drop off some of my notes and such for the local collections… I’m not sure if you’ll find what you’re looking for there, but maybe you’ll find some information in town.” 

“Wait,” Four says, narrowing his eyes at the map. “Castle Town’s all the way over here.” He points at the small illustration, an image of a castle all the way on the other side of the map, and then turns to give Laru an incredulous look. “Why in Hylia’s name did you come all the way out here if you were just going to turn around again?”

Laru shrugs, sheepish. 

“Like I said, I couldn’t miss the full moon.”

Legend huffs, crossing his arms and giving Laru a sidelong look. 

“You’re extremely weird, you know that?” 

Laru smiles, almost cheeky. 

“So I’ve been told.”

* * *

They agree to leave in the morning for Castle Town, handing Laru his map back with promises to be up early and ready to head out. Their new companion seems to be excited at the prospect of no longer travelling alone, though Legend suspects it’s partially due to actually having an audience; Laru talks about his work like there’s no tomorrow - passion follows him like a loyal dog, infecting his speech with an excitement that seems to have no bounds. 

Legend would find it almost endearing, were he not the soul receiver of the constant exclamations; the rest of his group somehow find ways to disappear despite the village’s small size, so Legend spends the rest of the day caught between the demands of the village children, who cling to him like limpets and beseech him for stories and games, and Laru’s steady stream of conversation and, while he admits to himself that Laru’s research is, at its core, actually quite fascinating, he can’t help but feel utterly lost when Laru begins to discuss the surrounding area’s fauna. 

“So you see, the rabbits here, as I’ve discovered on several past excursions, have become so well adapted to the abnormal climate pattern - wherein the springs in this part of the land are unusually bitter due to the elevation and the mysterious forces of the nearby woods - that they, over multiple generations, have evolved to retain their winter coats for far longer than individuals found in other parts of Hyrule!” He grins, arms spread wide as if to emphasise the grandeur of his discovery and turns to Legend with a look that implores him to comment. Legend swallows stiffly. 

“Uh… wow… that’s, uh, very cool.”

Legend feels a twinge of guilt when Laru’s shoulders drop, his grin twisting into a sort of grimace. The other man lowers his arms, his hands coming down to play with the hem of his tunic. 

“Forgive me, I’m boring you, aren’t I?” 

“No!” Legend tries, bringing his hands up. He wishes Time were here. “No, no… I just. I’m not the brightest of people,” he tries and then winces when Laru raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing. Legend bites his lip. “It’s fascinating stuff, it really is; it’s just a bit hard for me to keep up, is all.” 

Laru sighs, but gives him a small smile. 

“It’s alright,” he says softly and then laughs, looking down at the ground with a shrug. “I tend to ramble - most people don’t have the same passion for such things; I should really learn to temper my discussions.” 

Legend nearly rolls his eyes, inwardly berating himself for his own lack of tact, and racks his brain for something to say. 

“You… you mentioned, um, ‘mysterious forces’ in the woods…?” 

Laru glances at him, as if gauging whether or not Legend is truly interested in hearing more; Legend tries to school his features, doing his best to impersonate Time, and nods in the direction of the nearby woods. Laru hesitates, before turning to his pack and producing another notebook, flipping through its pages before handing it to Legend. 

“Here,” he says, pointing to a rough sketch of what looks to be a large tree, it’s canopy spread out across the page. “According to local legend, a grand tree stands in the middle of the forest; it’s supposed to be ancient, supplying the rest of the woods with life and energy. I drew this sketch after gathering stories from the people in town.” 

Legend hums, running a thumb along the lines of the drawing. There’s something eerily familiar about the tree, but he finds himself lost for comment when Laru flips the page to reveal scribbled notes and hasty drawings of more trees and plants. 

“You see,” he starts. “The woods never lose their green, even while the rest of Middle Hyrule goes through seasons at what would be considered a regular schedule; now, obviously things tend to differ as you draw closer to Gerudo desert and the highlands to the north, but, for the most part, the temperate climate remains steadfast.” He flips back to the grand tree once more. “However, the immediate land around the ‘Lost Woods,” ie: where we are right now, experiences a harsher winter season than the neighboring areas.” 

Laru pauses and looks at Legend as if awaiting a reply; as if what he has said is cause for great exclamation. Legend blinks, unsure of what to say, before deciding on a simple nod. 

“So… harsher winters and the woods remain green, meaning… what? That woods somehow affect the weather of other places.” It’s a strange notion, to be sure, but, then again, Legend has experienced things far more curious. To his surprise, Laru smiles. 

“Exactly! My theory - the woods, as per the local legends, are magic; drawing energy from the immediate area to maintain a constant spring.” 

“What for?”

“No one knows. Those who enter the forest supposedly never return; they become  _ lost _ . Wandering aimlessly for eternity, their souls ever chained to the very woods that claimed their bodies and minds.” Laru pauses, as if caught in the drama of it all, before shaking his head and laughing. “Or, at least, that’s what most people believe.” 

Legend watches him for a moment, then turns his gaze to the looming wall trees not so far away. 

“And what do you believe?” he finally asks and Laru hums. Above them, the sky is beginning to darken and Legend feels the first pangs of hunger make themselves known; he hopes, idly, that Hyrule doesn’t plan on cooking tonight; that the other hero will allow the village to provide them with supper. 

Beside Legend, Laru is still staring at the woods, pensive. Legend wonders if he’ll join him and the others for food, or if he’ll remain here and wait for the moon alone. His dedication is admirable, in a sort of far fetched, crazy way, and Legend finds himself imagining a life without prophetic destinies and kings of darkness; would he, too, throw himself into his own passions? 

He thinks, a hint of bitterness to his own thoughts, that he’s not quite sure where his passions lie to begin with. To feel the weight of a sword in one’s grip, to feel the rush of battle through the streams of one’s own blood - it is exhilarating, but Legend cannot deny the fact that he finds no true satisfaction in the act of heroism, nor in the risking of his life to save a land that will one day forget him. 

He does not know his own passions, too wrapped up in the destiny of Hyrule to dedicate himself to discovering what he truly loves. 

Legend has loved, but love is a fickle thing, as is passion; fragile in a way that most things aren’t. Passion and love are emotions that take up too much space for someone whose existence is chained to the whims of beings who hold no capacity for the feelings of mortals; they are too easily broken, too easily killed, and he finds it easier to pretend that such matters are trivial. 

Their loss lingers like no other and he refuses to lose himself to the grief that it brings again. 

“I don’t know what I believe,” Laru admits after a long while and Legend is brought from the depth of his thoughts with such force that he is momentarily lost in his own body. He blinks, trying to regain some sense of balance within his mind, and realizes that Laru is still talking. 

“I am a man of research and logic, so part of me questions the truth behind such a story…” 

He falls silent, before turning to look at Legend fully, green eyes bright. His gaze burns with something Legend himself does not possess and the hero finds himself flinching internally as Laru smiles.

“And yet,” Laru says, fire in his voice. “For someone like me, who’s pursuit lies in uncovering the history of the land, it is important to take note of the stories that those who have lived here believe and take faith in; I cannot dismiss the lore of something simply because others would say it is improbable.”

He snaps his notebook shut and breathes deeply. Behind them, the lanterns of the village glow with a soft warmth and the smell of food sails to them on the night’s breeze. Laru turns to go back, gesturing for Legend to follow. 

“You see,” he says as they begin their walk to rejoin the others. “There is history to be found even in the most far fetched of legends.” 

* * *

Dinner is not a quiet affair; the village gathers in the square, talking and laughing as if the inclusion of a few guests is cause for celebration. Legend finds himself sandwiched between Warriors and Hyrule, his lap claimed by the young village girl from before. 

“Maree,” her mother admonishes from her place at the cooking pot, but Legend only smiles and hands the young girl a piece of his bread, laughing when she stuffs it into her mouth with vigor. 

The food is delicious and he sends a silent ‘thanks’ to the goddesses that Hyrule decided not to help out. 

Four returns with his own bowl of food, plopping himself down beside Warriors and proceeding to shovel as much stew as he can into his mouth in one go. Warriors bursts out laughing, slapping Four on the back when the smaller hero begins to choke. 

“What’s all the rush?” Hyrule chuckles, tearing apart piece of bread with careful movements. Four scowls at him, still trying to recover. 

“I want to head to bed early,” he grunts, clearing his throat. “We need to be up before dawn tomorrow so we can make it Castle Town sooner rather than later.” 

On his lap, Maree is playing with the sleeve of Legend’s tunic, giggling when he lifts his arm away, teasing her.

“What do you think we’re even going to find in Castle Town?” Legend sighs. “It’s not like we have any reason to believe that going there will actually help us.” 

Four glares at him from under his bangs. 

“Would you drop it already, Legend? Your idea of going to a Hylia-damned volcano wasn’t much better.” 

Legend feels a twinge of annoyance building in his chest, but he pushes it down in favor of handing Maree another bite of bread. 

“At least my idea had some sense to it,” he counters. Four scoffs, taking another bite of stew, and Legend sends him a sneer. “What? You don’t think that the fact that we were attacked on a mountain in Wild’s Hyrule is reason to check out the mountains in this one? You don’t think that  _ maybe _ we should go take a look at a place that holds some correlation to the place where this whole thing started?” 

Four wrinkles his nose. Hyrule takes the moment to join in, placing his empty bowl down on the ground as he does. 

“To be fair, Laru did say that he was just there and that there wasn’t anything going on.” 

Legend rolls his eyes, but Hyrule only raises an eyebrow. 

“You don’t believe him?” 

“I didn’t say that?” 

“Did you guys spend the whole day together - I thought you were friends now.” 

“He’s not my friend,” Legend bites back. “I was just helping him with some research, is all.” 

“Riiiiight,” Warriors says on his other side, tilting his head back. “Listen, I think we’re all just a bit out of sorts; we’re frustrated and angry and tired.” 

He sits up a little more and turns to Legend. 

“You’re not wrong about being suspicious of the volcano, but then again, we weren’t at a volcano when we were attacked in Wild’s Hyrule; just a mountain. I think it’s safe to say that going there wouldn’t be the right move.” He nods to Four. “Even if we have no solid reason for believing that we’ll find whatever we need in Castle Town, at the very least we can maybe gather some information. Or even,” he says, his voice lowering. “We might be able to meet with the Royal Family.” 

“Time hasn’t much mentioned them before,” Hyrule points out. “Do you think they’d even be willing to help us?” 

“Time’s a Hero of the Goddess, which means he’s gotta have a Princess Zelda to go along with him. I’m sure she’d be more than willing to give us aid,” Warriors explains. 

Legend bites his tongue, a thousand doubts at its tip; he looks away, ignoring the way his stew has gone cold in his grip, or how Maree has fallen asleep against his chest. He doesn’t want to admit that the others are right; he’s angry, angry at them for being so clearly with it where he isn’t, and angry at himself for wanting this all to be over. 

He cannot wish for something and then simply wait for it to occur; he knows his idea to go to Death Mountain is illogical, but another part of his screams that, if they just go now, then at least they’ll be doing something instead of just wasting their time travelling from place to place, searching for information that might not even exist. 

Across the square, he sees Laru rise from his place, his bag already on his back and his notebook in hand; he’s staring at the sky, cloudless, and to where the moon is rising steadily over the Lost Woods. He glances at Legend, nodding to him, before starting to walk away. Legend watches him. He feels his leg twitch, eager to move, to do anything but sit here idly. 

_ Fuck it, _ he thinks and then, gently as he can, removes Maree from his lap and hands her to Warriors. The other hero takes her without protest, but he gives Legend a question look. 

“Where are you going?” 

“With Laru. I want to see the moon as well.” 

“You’re kidding,” Four yelps, jumping to his feet. “We have to leave early tomorrow and you’re planning on staying up all night? To see the moon? The thing that is always there and that you can see literally every night?” 

Legend ignores him, standing with a grunt. 

“I’ll be back shortly,” he tells Warriors and Hyrule, smiling when Maree burrows into the scarf around Warriors neck. Hyrule clears his throat. 

“Be careful,” he cautions. 

“Obviously,” Legend responds and shoulders his pack, before resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. Four is still looking at him with murder in his eyes, so he turns to Warriors instead. The other hero only raises an eyebrow before wrapping an arm around Maree and leaning back. 

“Not friends, my ass,” he drawls and Legend can’t help but huff, a smile tugging at his lips.

* * *

Laru is halfway to the woods by the time Legend catches up to him. He turns, surprise written clear as day across his face, when Legend calls out his name. 

“You’re here,” he says, laughing when Legend bends over to catch his breath. 

“Well,” Legend says as he straightens up. “You seemed so excited about it, I figured I’d come see what the big deal is.” 

“You just wanted to get away from your friends.” 

“Not untrue,” Legend admits, but smiles. “But my other point still stands.” 

“They annoy you.” 

“Most days.” 

Laru chuckles, shaking his head, before resuming his journey; Legend falls in line beside him, eyes trained on the trees before them. 

“Wow,” Laru breathes as they draw close, and Legend has to agree with him. The moon, full and bright, casts a silver brilliance over the woods, its glow alighting along the branches of the trees and painting them in pale resplendence. At their base, Legend sees now what he could not in the light of day; mist curls amongst the trunks of the trees, creating an illusion reminiscent of fine snow. 

The sound of scribbling draws Legend’s attention away from the scene before him and he looks down to find Laru sitting cross legged on the ground, buried nose deep in his notebook, writing furiously. The moonlight here is bright enough that, even from where he’s standing, Legend can make out some of what his companion writes; ‘a beacon over the dark forms that make up the trees of the Lost Woods, the full moon, unhindered by the clouds so prevalent during this season, blankets the entire forest in silver; truly a remarkable sight to behold, for it illuminates every branch and leaf of every tree, so that looks as if the whole of the woods is caught in a sort of mystic winter.’ 

Legend bites back at laugh; even in his writing, Laru seems to ramble. 

They stand there, silent save for the scratch of Laru’s quill, for a long while. Legend, normally so adverse to inaction, finds himself peaceful, for once, taking into the sight of the trees and content to bask in the moon’s light as well. 

After a while, Laru stands. 

“Incredible,” he says, reading over his own writing.

“Everything you hoped for?” 

“And more,” Laru says and then, much to Legend surprise, begins walking towards the woods. Legend scrambles to catch up, reaching up to place a hand on Laru’s shoulder to stop him. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m going in, of course,” Larus says, as if it is the obvious course of action. “I need to record how the moonlight affects the rest of the woods.” 

“Are you crazy?” Legend exclaims, shaking his head. “Did you just tell me early today that people disappear when they enter the woods? That there’s whole legends surrounding the fact that no one who enters returns? And now you want to go into the woods? The  _ Lost  _ Woods?”

Laru blinks, clearly taken back, but then his face settles into a mask of light amusement. Legend makes a choked noise when Laru simply steps out of his grasp, smiling. 

“Well, yes. I’m trying to record the history of this land, Legend.” He gestures to the woods. “I can’t do that fully unless I go and truly experience all there is to experience. Beside,” he says and shoulders his pack. “They really are just stories; sure there may be magic and mystical creatures there, but there’s nothing to say that people truly do disappear for no reason in the woods.” 

He laughs, but Legend has a hard time finding the humor to join him. 

“I mean,” Laru continues. “There are stories that the Lost Woods is simply filled with magical children; now, you don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” 

“What about respecting the stories and the faith and all that bullshit?”

“Well yes, it’s important to consider the stories and folklore of the locals, but at the same time, you have to use logic as well to discover the truth. People disappear when they enter the forest; obviously the most dramatic and interesting answer is to say that they were magically lost or killed by some great monster of the goddess.” He shrugs and begins to walk away again. “I’m here to find the truth; perhaps it truly is magic, similar to that which keeps the forest green, or maybe some other thing has kept those who wander in from wandering out. Or perhaps they really are just stories.” 

“What if you get lost?” 

“I’ll leave a trail - I have lots of paper to tear up.” 

“What if you get attacked?” 

Without looking back, Laru motions to his side, where Legend can see the sheath of a dagger on his belt. 

Legend remains, watching as Laru draws closer to the woods. At his side, his hand twitches, aching to grab the hilt of his sword; frustration battles with fear and he growls under his breath, the threat of inaction getting the better of him.

He grabs the hilt of his sword and pulls, unsheathing the blade; the metal gleams in the moonlight and he sighs, stalking to catch up with Laru. The other man turns when he hears him, eyes widening as they see the blade that Legend carries. 

“What’re you-” 

“I’m coming with you,” Legend growls and shoves Laru towards the woods. “Hylia help me, but it’s my job to protect people like you, even when you do stupid stupid things.” 

Laru chuckles. 

“You make it sound like you’re some sort of hero, or something,” he says and Legend huffs, but doesn’t respond. 

Instead, he breathes deeply and grips his sword tighter, glancing back once more to where the golden lights of the village flicker, before he and Laru step into the shadows of the Lost Woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me out here feverishly scanning through Ocarina of Time's Hyrule maps and wiki, only to discover that I'm probably going to have to make some shit up if I want it to feel like a whole ass country. Namely, more villages.  
***  
I am feeling very tired and very old, but, then again, such is the way things seem to be right now. I wish you all well in the meantime.


	16. Legend II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Loyalty to a cause you do not believe in? To throw down your own life for another whom you do not care for? Such is the curse so many have placed upon them, even if they do not realize it. I wonder, sometimes, what my cause is? What power have I folded myself before; to whom have I knelt and offered my sword? I have exhausted myself for so many things. I have brought myself to the brink and then dragged myself back for people and wars and causes I, myself, take no pleasure in seeing succeed. And yet it is my duty, though my choice in the matter of such things was nonexistent; I am obligated to give all that I have to another, and one day I will give my life as well. 
> 
> Such is the way of things, I suppose." 
> 
> \- Passage from the diary of Queen Zelda V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic content. Mentions of death, body horror, and general horror/horror related themes. 
> 
> Summary of Chapter at the end for those who wish to avoid the above stated.

Legend is 102% sure that this is a bad idea, because, about 10 steps into the woods, he nearly loses Laru; not because of the mist or the magic or some other bullshit, but because the idiot man decides that running off and climbing into the nearest hollow tree to inspect the fungi that could possibly dwell within is the smartest choice he can make in their current situation. Legend, after frantically searching for the better part of a minute, is stuck standing beside the tree, sword drawn, waiting while Laru continues to delve deeper and deeper, unil only his backside and legs are visible. 

“Fascinating,” comes his muffled shout from within the tree, and Legend rolls his eyes, one part of him exasperated and another part filled with a strange fondness at the antics of his new friend. 

He blinks. He shakes his head. 

No, they’re not friends. 

Legend doesn’t  _ do _ friends, because friends die. Or get lost. Or stop existing. Or have to go back to their own worlds. Even after months spent travelling together in an effort to stop an incredible evil from destroying everything that they all hold near and dear to the hearts, and, in the end, friendship doesn’t really matter because they’re all going to die anyways, so why should he even bother and the woods are really closing in now it’s as if the mist itself is creeping ever closer and he presses himself against the tree as though trying to back away from something reaching out and grabbing him and his thoughts are racing between friends and evil and passion and mist and mist and mist and- 

He takes a shuddering breath and feels the fog clear from his mind, ever so slightly. Strange.

Beside him, Laru reappears, his braid undone and his hair tangled in leaves and sticks; he looks positively ecstatic. 

“Let’s keep going!” He exclaims and Legend nearly screams. 

* * *

The woods are, to say the least, astoundingly creepy; Legend finds himself gripping the hilt of his sword ever tighter as they continue their journey. The mist swirls at their feet, slinking between their legs like it does the roots of the seemingly thousands of trees that surround them. Legend shudders, an feeling like ice running through him; like the hand of someone who’d just stepped in from outside - they trail their fingers down the expanse of his back and he flinches. The woods here, magic as they are, hold something else entirely within their depths. He feels wrong here. Out of place. 

And yet, despite him knowing that he should be anywhere else, that he is an outsider here, there’s a pull in his chest that refuses to let up; a rope pulled taut, tethered to his very center. 

Laru, a few feet ahead of him, seems unbothered by whatever lurks between the trees. He simply walks with a purpose, tearing paper pieces from his notebook and allowing them to flutter to the ground as he goes, a trail to help them home. Every once in a while, he pauses to study something or to make sure that Legend isn’t too far behind; Legend would find it almost nice, if it weren’t for the ever present feeling that they are being watched by something far different than just a simple animal. 

“You doing alright?” Laru calls back at one point, cheeky, as if the sight of Legend slugging his way through the undergrowth is greatly entertaining. 

“Peachy,” Legend responds and narrowly avoids tripping over an exposed root. He hops, dancing away from it with a growl of annoyance and then stops to gather his balance. Laru stops as well, an eyebrow quirked, and opens his mouth, as if to say something witty, but freezes, eyes wide as he stares at the ground by Legend’s feet. Legend tilts his head, confused. 

“What?” 

Laru only shakes his head and steps forward, before pointing. 

“It’s a bone.” 

The phrase is chilling enough as it is, but, as Legend takes a closer look as well, it becomes even more so. Legend kneels, a hand outstretched as if to touch, but he resists. 

It is, indeed, not a root, but a leg bone... or, rather, a skeletal leg, half buried beneath the broken boughs of a fallen tree; its knee bent upwards and breaking the surface of the dirt, Legend follows its curve from where it bursts from the ground, about half way up its femur, to where it disappears once more, just before the ankle. 

Laru kneels as well, audibly gulping. 

“Would you believe me when I say that, despite all my travels, I have yet to see a dead body?” He asks, quiet.

Legend huffs and nudges him with his shoulder. 

“I would,” he admits softly, then reaches to scoop a handful of dirt away from the bones; Laru makes a noise of discontent, but Legend ignores him. “Would you believe,” he whispers instead. “That I have seen quite a few?” 

Laru doesn’t answer, except to send him a look of quiet bewilderment, before drawing in a long breath and beginning to dig as well. Legend catches his eye, but Laru only purses his lips. 

“I am going to be a history man,” he says, almost as if trying to assure himself. “I’ll probably be seeing a lot of bodies in my future.” 

Legend can’t help the dry chuckle that escapes him. 

“To be fair,” he says as he scoops away another handful. “This is only a skeleton. Surely you’ve seen those before.” 

“Only in pictures and paintings,” Laru admits. “But, then again, how do you know this is  _ only _ a skeleton? Maybe that whatever is buried beneath isn’t as… ahem…  _ decomposed _ yet.” 

“Well,” Legend says, sitting back ever so slightly to look at Laru more fully. “Think of it this way; you can add ‘the effects of decomposition in the Lost Woods’ to your notes if it is.” 

“That doesn’t necessarily reassure me,” Laru says, grimacing. Legend pats his shoulder. 

“It’s a dead body. It’s not like it can do anything.” He says this and then proceeds to automatically think of the redeads and the resurrected and countless other possibilities. 

Whoops. 

“Er, and even if it does, I can protect you,” he tacks on quickly and pats his sword where it now lays at his side. Laru looks anything but comforted, but continues to dig nonetheless. 

It doesn’t take long. 

The soil here is loose, coming away easily as inch by inch they uncover the remains below; Legend keeps one eye on the work and another on their surroundings, but, oddly enough, the suffocating feeling from before has backed off. It’s as though the woods themselves have gone quiet in anticipation. 

Laru makes a small noise in the back of his throat as he pulls away a particularly large clump of dirt and debris to reveal the beginnings of a skull. Legend hisses out a curse. They both continue after a moment of staring, silent. At last, the rest of the soil falls away; Legend sits back and swipes a hand across his forehead. Laru is staring blankly ahead and, together, they sit in the presence of what they’ve uncovered. 

It is, indeed, a skeleton; broken and pervaded with fungi, Legend can only imagine how long it has lain beneath the loam, legs drawn upwards as if it had sat, curled around itself, in its final moments. He feels a twinge in the back of his throat, reaching forward to brush away some of the soil gathered in the skeleton’s lap; the tattered remains of old trousers, the green fabric muted with age, and what were once leather shoes, now riddled with holes, are all that remain whatever clothing the person wore in life. Around its wrists, laying limply at its sides, Legend can see the remains of leather cuffs; it is a strange sight, a look into whatever accessories this person preferred. 

The sudden sound of a quill against paper is enough to draw him from his musings; Laru is sat as close as he dares to the skeleton, his notebook in hand as he sketches a detailed recreation of the body. Unlike before, his face is one of solemn concentration. 

Legend watches quietly, before picking up his sword and turning to look out into the surrounding woods. Curious, he glances skyward, only to find that the canopy above allows little more than slivers of moonlight to pass through; whatever grand spectacle of the moon Laru was hoping to find within the depth of these woods is not to be found. Legend sighs. 

Behind him, Laru finishes his work and stands as well, mumbling to himself as he reads over his own notes. 

“I think you’ll find that, in terms of moon watching, our trek here was a bit of waste,” Legend finally states once it seems Laru has thoroughly gone over all he needs to. His companion looks up as well and lets out a long breath through his nose. 

“I suppose,” he mutters, then turns to Legend with a look that makes Legend wary. “Would it be too much to request that you accompany me a tad further; I’d like to see the grand center tree of these woods for myself.” 

Legend stares at him, mentally debating how much he’s willing to endure Four’s wrath if they return too late, but Laru is giving him what could only be described as puppy-dog-eyes, clutching his notebook to his chest in hopeful anticipation. 

“...fine,” Legend sighs defeated. Laru lets out a breathy exhale and nods, clearly grateful. Legend ignores him in favor of walking back over to the skeleton. 

“What should we do with it?” 

Laru hums, then comes to stand beside him. 

“While I’m tempted to take some samples to bring to Castle Town tomorrow, I feel it would be wrong to disturb them much more.” 

Legend nods. 

“Bury it, then?” 

“I think that would be wise.” 

Legend bends and takes a scoop of disturbed soil in his palms, about to place it gently back over the body, when a deafening roar cuts through the air, piercing the calm of the forest and sending both him and Laru to their knees. The ground beneath them shudders and Legend finds himself almost flung into the lap of the skeleton, the head of which is teetering dangerously on its neck; he scrambles as another roar splits the air and feels a hand grab the collar of his tunic. 

“What  _ is _ that?!” Laru cries, dragging Legend back, the both of them tumbling back into a tangle of limbs on the ground; they stagger to their feet, gripping each other for support as another roar rips its way through the trees, the towering forms creaking with the force of it. Legend feels a cry of his own ripped from his lips as Laru begins to haul him away.

He tries to run as well, legs kicking feebly, but his mind is elsewhere, weighed down by snow and wind and storms, and the shadow of a dragon on the icy face of a mountainside. 

“ _ Hylia, _ ” Laru yelps as they narrowly miss being crushed by a falling tree; Legend scrambles to get his own feet under him, physically shaking himself free of his memory, and then the both of them are crashing through the undergrowth, panting from both panic and exertion; it doesn’t take very long for a voice to appear in the back of Legend’s head, warning him that they are becoming more and more hopelessly lost, but it’s drowned out by the continuous roars that seem to echo around him until he can focus on nothing but their thunderous cacophony. 

He so caught up, so trapped in the throws of a booming choir, that he doesn’t see the log before it’s too late; his right knee hits it with enough force that he feels a crack, pain exploding outward and rushing through his leg, and then he’s down, flipping over the damned thing and landing in a heap on the ground; Laru follows soon after, his yell cut short as he fails to jump over the log that took Legend out and instead trips in his panic, tumbling over and coming to a painful stop a few feet away.

Legend’s vision is all white and pain, blurry around the edges; his gaze refuses to focus, his body shaking, and, when he tries to push himself up, it is only for agony to rip through his leg, forcing him back down to avoid being sick all over the place. The woods around him continue to shake with the force of agonized bellows and he lets out one of his own as he attempts to drag himself forward. 

He can see Laru not far from him, a crumpled mess of papers and limbs; he’s not moving and concern shoots through Legend, the adrenaline giving him enough of a boost to pull himself forward just enough that he can reach out a shaking hand and grab Laru’s shoulder. He gives it a weak shake, his vision already fading, but, if Laru responds, he doesn’t notice. 

Instead, white takes over his consciousness and then, just as the mist engulfs the forest floor, he is consumed. 

* * *

He is dying. 

Small hands grip his limbs, dragging him across the ground and leaving painful scratches across his exposed arms and legs, and he feels heavy, as if his body has become laden with stones; his vision is still white, as if the mist of the woods has infected his eyes, clouding them over the way it did his grandfather’s before him. 

Before he was alone. 

Before a blacksmith’s sword. 

Before an island. 

These thoughts wash over him, out of his control, gentle waves compared to the agony that throbs throughout every inch of him, pulsing alongside his rapid heartbeat. Something grabs the front of his tunic, tangling itself in the fabric, and hauls him upwards; he is limp, at the mercy of its grasp. He cannot feel most of himself save for the pain; his leg is the exception, in that he cannot feel it all. It is dead weight, dragging behind the rest of him, like the branch of a tree, half cut away. 

_ He will be lost. _

The voice passes over him, clearly not meant for him, and a chorus of whispers responds, mingling together so that he cannot pick out their full meanings. He feels as though his very being is tethered to his body with a single string, liable to snap at any moment, and then he would go rushing off, washed away like a grain of sand while the rest of him stayed behind, tossed around by the mist until it was something new. 

Fear pushes in beside the pain, deafening in its sudden arrival, and he struggles against its overwhelming presence; he doesn’t not want to end here. He does not want to be  _ lost _ . 

_ Why? _ Something asks him, soft in his mind, yet almost mocking; like a child standing over the form of another, fallen in the mud and refusing to get up. To stop crying. It’s as if the very thought of him clinging to life is laughable. 

_ I have people to return to, _ he tries, but is greeted only by quiet amusement. 

_ So did they… _ and he can hear more voices, faint. He can hear the crowing of cuccos and the sounds of a village. He can hear screaming. 

_ I have a home... _

_ Do you, now?  _ And he knows that it does not believe him. 

More hands grips at his body; at his skin. They pull and he feels the seams of his very flesh begin to pop, separating and revealing whatever lay beneath. It is fire and water and ice all at once; terrible pain, and his world tilts dangerously, despite being completely white. He is so very afraid, more so than he thinks he has ever been before; he is afraid of the mist and trees here. He is afraid of the hands that tear him apart. He is afraid of voices that laugh in his ear, in his mind. He is afraid that this is an end so unholy not even the goddess would wish it upon him. 

_ The goddess…?  _

There’s a sudden pause, so very short and quick, but there; the hands slow, the voices quiet, and he finds himself with just enough time for something more than just fear and pain to establish itself within his conscious. 

He feels anger. 

It is his, and yet it isn’t; it is old, ancient even, and it bursts forward from the depths of his self, from deeper than whatever he is now; it pushes past memories of islands and dark worlds and oracles, pushes past his loss, pushes past mortal fears and worries, and culminates in a rage that he does not fully recognise. Indignation that forces whatever has a hold of him to back away. 

It is insulted, and it is furious because of it. It is proud and angry and he feels as though he is two separate things, himself and itself, and he feels himself speak, feels it speak, feels it roar not unlike the dragon atop the mountain that now seems so long ago. 

_ DUTY!  _ It howls, thrashing inside him like a wild animal straining against the chains of his own mortality.  _ I AM BOUND BY DUTY TO CONTINUE!  _

He feels, rather than hears, the wretched cries of whatever surrounds him as they pull away, shielding themselves from the force that continues to lash against his restraints. 

_ I AM BOUND BY THE GODDESS HERSELF TO GO ON!  _

He feels himself scream, back arching as he twists, writhing in an attempt to break free of the forest itself. 

_ I AM DUTY INCARNATE, COURAGE AND RAGE! I AM THAT WHICH WILL LAY WASTE TO ALL WHO OPPOSE HER! _

There is screaming, that of frightened children, and then there is the sound like no other, piercing through the cacophony. 

_ I AM AS ANCIENT AS THE EVIL THAT KILLED THIS PLACE ONCE AND WILL KILL IT ONCE MORE! _

His wrists bend, his hands gripping the mist and wrapping it around his fingers, as if it were tendrils of fine silk; he pulls and the cries rise, a wailing that runs through his body and soul alike and he growls, the force within breaking loose with so much power that he is rendered utterly helpless against the storm, sinking into the sea of its voice as it delivers its final statement; 

_IN THE NAME OF THE VERY GODDESS THAT GAVE YOU LIFE, YOU WILL RELEASE ME _**_NOW_**_!_

And all at once the world shatters and he is spiralling, falling down through mist and hands and pain and trees, to land back in his body with a great cry, his chest heaving as suddenly he is himself once more, lying on his back in the middle of woods, with Laru only a few feet away, quiet and still. 

  
  
  


He lies there, gasping for air, for a long while; pain is still present, his leg a swollen, bloodied mess, and he closes his eyes against the bout of nausea that rises to his throat.

He refuses to be sick. 

It takes a few moments for his body to realign itself, the vertigo fading along with whatever cloudiness his experience had left him with. Instead, despite the pain radiating from his knee, he suddenly feels incredibly clear headed. He blinks, looking to see that the mist that had once surrounded him has moved away, creating a sort of circle around him. He tests it, reaching out a hand and exhaling a strange laugh when the mist moves away. 

It is then that he remembers Laru. The history man is lying the same as where he landed and Legend realizes with a start that he has not been moved as well; he feels a strange calmness in the face of his discovery. Whatever had happened, whatever he had just been a part of, it is over now. The woods will not trifle with him any longer.

Laru, on the other hand, is not so safe. 

Gritting his teeth, Legend forces himself onto his stomach and pulls himself forward, pushing past the agony of his leg and bringing himself to a sort of half-kneeling-half-sprawling position next to Laru. He grips Laru’s arm, hauling the man over so that he lies on his back; he is limp in Legend’s hold, his face a mask of pain despite his apparent unconsciousness. That, however, is not what concerns Legend most; it is the roots that have wrapped themselves around Laru’s limbs that give Legend the most pause and he watches with growing horror as they continue to snake their way further up, as if to encase Laru entirely. 

“No!” Legend yells, grabbing a root and wrenching it away from where it was about to encircle Laru’s neck. “You can’t have him!” 

He feels something pulse within him, a remnant of whatever had saved him from the forest before and he latches onto it with desperation, a surge of strength coursing through him as he continues to rip away the roots and vines from Laru’s body. 

“He’s with me!” He yells, using his sword to cut away a particularly stubborn tendril. The minute the blade makes contact with the root, the entirety of the woods seems to shudder and then, all at once, the roots retreat, disappearing back into the mist which, just as it had done with Legend, seems to move away as well, creating an even wider berth around the two men. 

At the same time, Legend feels an incredible exhaustion overtake him as whatever strength he had been drawing on before deserts him, leaving him shaky and faint. He sits there, trying to catch his breath against the sudden ache that permeates his entire body. Nearby, his sword lays, forgotten, and he uses what little strength he has left to reach over and drag it towards him. 

At the very least, relief comes with a faint groan from Laru. 

“Wha…?” The man murmurs, eyes blinking open and clouded with confusion. He stares at the sky for a moment, before his gaze slides over to Legend, who simply offers him a small smile. 

“Congratulations, you’re not dead.” 

“Astounding,” Laru says with no small amount of sarcasm, and then he’s pushing himself up, shaking with the effort; Legend reaches out to help him, though he can’t offer much more than a weak arm for support, and they lean against each other on the forest floor, dazed but alive.

After a moment, Laru nods to Legend’s leg. 

“That looks bad.” 

“Probably.” 

“Can you walk?” 

“Probably not.” 

“Looks like I’ll have to leave you here.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

Laru laughs weakly, bringing up a hand to push away the hair that has come undone from his braid and fallen in front of his face. He looks about as good as Legend feels, which is not great, and Legend has no doubts that the both of them are going to have a hard time getting out the damned woods. He sighs. 

“I can’t believe you got us stuck in a haunted forest,” he mutters, though there’s little venom to the words. Laru, for his part, doesn’t seem to take too much offense. 

“For the record, you chose to follow me here, so it’s not entirely my fault.” 

“Well, if I wasn’t here, you’d be dead, so, you’re welcome.” 

He means to be joking, a way of lightening the mood, but Laru seems to sober up instead, his face falling grim, and he turns to Legend with a look of honest gratification. 

“Thank you… I’m not really sure what you did, or how you made it… stop... but I… I...” He trails off, a hollow look in his eyes. Around them, the woods are quiet, the mist slinking lazily between the trees, but never drawing any closer to where they sit. 

Legend thinks about the others, back in the village, and wonders how long he and Laru have been gone; he thinks of the conniption Four is probably having and almost smiles. Beside him, Laru leans forward to rest his arms on his knees, heaving a great sigh. 

“We should leave.” 

“That is the best idea you have had all day,” Legend replies honestly and Laru gives him an empty laugh, before beginning the process of standing up. Legend watches him from the ground, wincing when he sees dirt and leaves fall from Laru’s clothes, before the other man turns and offers him a hand. Legend eyes it warily. 

“I won’t be able to walk.” 

“Well,” Laru says and places his other hand on his hip. “Aren’t you just so lucky I’m here to help?” 

  
  


They make a very ridiculous pair; Legend leaning his entire weight against Laru, while Laru seems barely capable of maintaining an upright position in general. It’s a sorry sight for sure, the two of them stumbling their way through the woods, avoided by the mist, but hopelessly lost all the same; at one point, Laru suggests trying to find the trail of paper they had been leaving, but Legend gets the sinking feeling that, just as they had almost been, whatever marks they had left on the woods have been consumed. So they just continue on, looking for familiar signs and knowing that it’s doubtful they’ll find any. 

About an hour into their search, the footsteps begin. They’re hard to notice at first; the quiet of the forest is not one of natural silence, where birds fly at the approach of visitors and rodents make themselves scarce; the quiet here is suffocating, as if the mist is actively smothering any sound that could be made. Legend’s breathing sounds muffled to his own ears, despite the mist continuing to give both him and Laru a healthy amount of space. 

So neither of them hear the footsteps when they begin. 

It is only when Legend asks to stop, his leg throbbing and his head spinning, do they first come to his attention; Laru leans him against a tree, the mist parting, and, just as he sinks back against the rough bark, Legend hears it; a footstep, masked by the mist. 

He places a hand on Laru’s shoulder, urging him to remain quiet, and together they huddle against the tree, looking out into the surrounding white. Only silence greets them, but Legend can’t ignore how the chill that has managed to stay with him this entire time is now as biting as the winds on Mt. Lanayru. 

“We’re being followed,” he mutters and Laru nods, eyes darting back and forth over the dark silhouettes of the trees. The muted moonlight above, barely visibly through the canopy, makes it seems as though the shadows that surround them are moving, though, if he’s being honest, Legend’s not entirely sure that’s not true. 

“We should keep moving,” Laru whispers, helping Legend lean against him once. Legend brings a hand to his sword, though he doubts it will be of much use in his current situation. Laru loops an arm around his waist again and begins hauling him forward. Legend tries to keep an eye on the woods, waiting for something to jump out, but the pain makes it difficult and, soon enough, he finds himself panting from exertion again, his forehead coated with sweat. 

“Should’ve brought… potions…” he breathes, staring at the ground as Laru basically drags him along; Legend does his best to help out with his good leg, but he thinks he’s doing more harm than good. Laru doesn’t answer him, just gives Legend’s arm a good squeeze where he’s gripping it as it lays across his shoulders. Legend’s about to speak up, ask to stop and rest once more, when he hears it again; a footstep, half a step behind there’s, echoing them. Laru hears it too this time; he comes to an abrupt stop and Legend bites down to keep from crying out as his leg is jostled. 

Laru has his head turned to look behind them, wide eyed. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath and Legend turns to look as well. 

There is something in the mist, watching them. 

Legend feels the hair on his neck stand on end, goosebumps erupting along his arms as he stares at the muted silhouette, warped by the churning fog; it stands, completely still, body barely visible. It is almost human, Legend thinks, but he cannot be sure; it looks too skinny, too gangly, standing twisted and hunched just beyond the boundary of the mist.

It’s eyes are clear though. They look separate from the mist, clear as day where the rest of it is muffled, as if the mist is parted just enough to allow the eyes to be seen fully. They glow, eerie and red, and Legend feels his breath leave him all at once as he realizes their irises are clouded over, milky in unmistakable death. 

Beside, Laru gives a full body shudder, pushing closer to him in obvious fear. He makes a choked sort of sound as the figure begins to move, slowly, to the right, circling them; it never strays closer, staying behind the wall of white that enshrouds it, but there’s no mistaking the way it stalks them like prey, cloudy red gaze never leaving their forms.

Legend draws his sword, the drag of metal breaking the all consuming silence, and the figure pauses and then, slowly, something pierces through the veil, reaching for them, and Legend is wracked with an intense need to run; a skeletal hand stretches toward them, bony fingers uncurling. 

Around its wrist, Legend can see the tattered remains of a leather cuff. 

“Hylia, help us,” Laru breathes and all at once the stalemate is broken and the figure rushes forward, mist parting like a great rift, and Legend has only a moment to bring his sword up in time to stop monster, a cry torn from his lips as he and Laru are forced back; creaking bones wrap themselves around his forearm and he looks up to see the stalfos bearing down on him, white skull red against the glow of its eyes. 

It screams, a tortured, haunting sound, and rams itself against them once more; Legend brings his sword down, the blade scraping against bone, but the stalfos doesn’t seem affected, simply leaning forward and opening its mouth as if to clamp down around Legend’s throat. It’s stopped by a wild punch, its head whipping away with a pop, and Legend turns to see Laru drawing back, his knuckles scraped raw where they’ve met bare bone. 

The stalfos staggers, neck twisted in a way that brings bile back to Legend’s throat, but he doesn’t have time to process it before he’s being lifted bodily into the air and thrown over Laru’s shoulder as the other man begins a frantic dash into the surrounding trees. He scrambles to keep his grip on his sword as the world tilts, his leg bouncing painfully as Laru continues to run, and he looks up as they retreat to see the shadowy form of the stalfos, once again shrouded by the mist, realign itself with a sickening crack, before spinning towards them and giving chase. 

“It’s gaining on us!” he cries as the monster’s eyes reappear and Laru lets out a strangled cry, turning sharply around a tree and continuing on, breath coming is sharp bursts. 

Legend hefts his sword, wishing he’d brought his pack with him, heavy with the rest of his weapons and supplies; desperate, he clumsily searches through Laru’s pack, biting back a curse when all he finds is more notebooks and quills. 

“Keep running!” he yells, though he doubts Laru has plans to do anything else, and looks back just as the stalfos breaks the mist, its joints creaking horribly as it pursues them at a deadly pace; the tattered green of its trousers is enough for Legend to know it is the same skeleton from before. It screams again; this is not the thundering howl of a beast, Legend thinks, but the cry of death incarnate, shrill and sharp and agonizingly human. 

“We’re not gonna make it,” Laru moans, stumbling on the uneven ground, and Legend feels panic build in his chest; he searches for whatever strength he had possessed before, when the woods had first tried to claim him, but, whatever it was, it has abandoned him now, leaving him shaky and in pain. 

The stalfos catches up and Legend takes a wild swing, the movement awkward due to his position, slung over Laru’s shoulder; his sword catches the stalfos’ arm as it reaches for him, but it does little more than make the monster growl as its skinless fingers grip Legend’s collar and yank him downward, sending both him and Laru crashing to the ground. White pain explodes outward from his leg and Legend’s vision goes white, not from mist but agony. He chokes on a scream, twitching, and feels Laru twisting beneath as the monster begins to attack; something claws at his back, lifting him up and then flinging him away; he hits the ground with a thud, rolling, and the pain is almost enough to knock him out, an all encompassing heat that has tears springing to his eyes. 

He’s disoriented by it all; he thinks he can hear Laru screaming, the monster as well, and he forces his eyes open to see the two of them grappling with each other, rolling around in a flurry of limbs and howls. Laru fumbles, bringing his dagger down on the monster’s head and Legend nearly gags when a large crack resounds; the monster seems unbothered, delivering a hefty kick to Laru’s stomach that leaves the man gasping for air. 

Legend swallows. His sword lays beside him in the dirt. Laru and the monster fight, only a few feet away.

Legend’s leg twinges, but he pushes himself upwards anyways, kneeling. 

It’s not that far. It’s not that far. 

Laru yells as the stalfos makes a grab for his throat. Legend’s hand closes around the hilt of the sword. He breathes. 

_ You’ll not walk again, _ a voice warns him. 

_ That’s okay, _ he thinks. It’s okay. It’s his duty. His purpose.  _ I am a hero, chosen by the goddess. So it’s okay.  _

And he charges. 

There’s red, though he’s not sure if it's from Laru’s blood on the ground or the glow of the stalfos’ eyes or the pain that erupts as he launches himself forward, leg finally giving out and falling painfully numb. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter; he drives his sword forward with a howl of his own, burying it into the ribcage of stalfos. The monster screeches, clawing at him, but he simply roars back, twisting his blade ever deeper; it hits something, not quite solid, but not liquid. He cannot see it through the gaps in the stalfos’ ribs, but it gives beneath his sword and the monster goes suddenly rigid, before arching back and spasming. 

It opens its mouth, eyes glowing bright, and Legend almost thinks it’s going to scream again, but it just lets out a long, low hiss, its eyes dimming and, then, it crumbles, literally falling to pieces beneath him and Legend is left lying in its remains, gasping for air. 

He remains there, trying to recover whatever pieces of him are still there; he can no longer feel his leg, though he’s not sure that’s necessarily a good thing. It takes him a moment to register that someone is calling for him, a hand on his back, and he blinks, looking up to see Laru kneeling over him, panicked. 

“...’m okay,” he mumbles and Laru looks as though he’s about to start sobbing, dragging Legend upward and away from the bones. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he blubbers and Legend nearly rolls his eyes, feeling weirdly calm. “If I hadn’t wanted to come in here,” Laru tries, but Legend just shakes his head and eventually slaps a hand over Laru’s mouth when he continues to apologize. 

“You didn’t know,” Legend says and Laru makes a strangled noise. 

“But you tried to warn me!” He has blood running down the side of his face. 

“Well, I didn’t know it would be this bad either.”

They sit there, trading back and forth their apologies and acceptances until finally Legend is forced to grab Laru by the shoulders, ignore the way his leg flops uselessly as he turns to do so, and shake him. 

“It’s not your fault,” he grits out. “You  _ didn’t know.  _ You _ couldn’t have known.  _ So just, stop, okay.” Laru sniffles and Legend sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t blame you, so just shut up, okay?” He bites out the last bit, feeling embarrassed and frustrated, but Laru only nods, looking down. They fall quiet and once again they are sat on the forest floor with their thoughts. 

Legend wonders if the others are looking for him yet; he has no idea how long it’s been since they entered the forest, but he knows that it has to at least be a few hours, far longer than he planned to be out tonight. A part of him wonders, idly, if they’re even going to be able to get out. 

Despite this thought, he still feels… calm. It’s as if the killing of the stalfos has earned him a moment of peace. Laru doesn’t seem to agree, still sniffling and looking around with obvious distress; Legend has to give him credit for holding it together so long, though; he doubts any other random traveler would be half as controlled as his new friend. Acquaintance. Whatever.

He watches Laru, trying to find a way to tell him that he doesn’t know if they’ll be getting out of this alive, when something behind Laru catches his eye. 

“Hey,” he whispers, pointing. Laru turns, shoulders tense, but then relaxes when he, too, sees it; soft light, warm and emanating from a space between the trees. Legend stares and the pulling feeling in his chest returns, urging him forward. He almost goes to stand, but thinks better of it, casting a glance back to where his leg lays, mangled and limp. Laru, luckily, seems to get the idea and he stands, looping his arms beneath Legend’s armpits and helping him stand. Legend winces when he’s unable to even hold his leg off the ground and instead it drags as Laru begins to help him forward. Laru even opens his mouth to say something, guilt making his eyes bright, but Legend cuts him off;

“It’s fine,” he insists, and glares when Laru looks as though he’s about to argue. A part of him is sure that, were it any other situation, Laru might fight him on it, but pity holds him back. 

The light continues to grow, flickering ahead of them, a beacon in the white; the pull grows stronger as well and Legend feels himself growing impatient. 

_ Because you are,  _ the voice taunts and Legend growls, startlingly Laru. Legend feels his face grow red and he grits out ‘pain,’ hoping it’s enough to convince the other. 

It isn’t until they reach grass that Legend realizes the mist has cleared. Laru hisses out a breath beside him, staring silently at their surrounding; no longer are they encircled by thick fog, but, instead, the moonlight here blankets the world, uninterrupted by the canopy; they are stood in a clearing and, for once, the silent is not suffocating. As he strains to listen, Legend can even hear the faint song of crickets. Above them, the sky is wide and clear, stars twinkling, uninhibited by clouds. 

“Oh,” Laru breathes and Legend is surprised to see a small smile gracing his features. Legend nods. 

“Draw a picture,” he murmurs and Laru laughs lightly. “It’ll last longer.” 

“Don’t tempt me.” 

It is then that Legend notices the tree for the first; he doesn’t know how he missed it before, considering it’s easily the biggest tree he has ever seen. It towers over the rest of the forest, branches stretching upwards so high that Legend almost believes it could capture the moon itself in its boughs. 

“That’s… that’s…” Laru stutters, now fumbling for a notebook with his free hand. 

“The Great Tree,” Legend finishes. He stares at it, enraptured by its majesty, until he notices that something is… off. 

Where the rest of the woods are lush and green, as creepy as they are, this Great Tree, with its arching limbs and incredible berth, is bare. No leaves adorn its branches and the bark itself is grey and faded. Laru seems too busy trying to figure out how to both hold a notebook and write in it with one hand to actually notice anything is amiss, until Legend nudges him with his shoulder and nods to the tree, which he’s starting to realize… is dead…

The Great Tree of the Lost Woods is dead. 

Typical. 

He almost laughs at the absurdity of it, if it wasn’t for the noise of despair that rips its way out of Laru; apparently having reached his breaking point, the man simply drops his notebook and bows his head, quiet tears trailing his way down his cheeks. Legend stares at him, surprised, before awkwardly clearing his throat. 

“Hey, uh, it’s okay…?” 

Laru doesn’t answer, just whimpers rather pitifully. Legend feels himself dying. 

“Hey, hey,” he tries again, reaching over to pat Laru’s chest lightly. “It’s going to be alright.” 

“No, it’s not,” Laru moans. “We’re gonna die here. We’re gonna be killed and die, and the fuckin’ tree isn’t alive to make it worth it.” 

Legend is about to argue something about the tree being alive not really being worth it anyways, when another presence makes itself known. 

“I’m a little offended by the sentiment, young Hero, but, nonetheless, do not blame you for such musings.” 

Both Legend and Laru tense, the latter straightening up at such a speed that Legend is nearly thrown off balance. 

In front of them, sat rather smugly at the base of the Great Tree, is a sprout, round and… smiling. Legend blinks, trying to clear his vision, but, no, the sprout is definitely smiling. 

“What. The fuck?” Legend mutters. Laru, in turn, makes a sound akin to a dying bird, as if the words he means to say refuse to actually form. The sprout continues to stare up at them, before it has the gall to smile, swaying ever so slightly. 

“I knew one like you, not too long ago.” 

“Ah,” Legend says, still rather dazed. The sprout rustles its leaves. 

“Oh yes. A young Hero, left here beneath the canopy of my former self.” It pauses, before continuing with a sound like genuine nostalgia in its voice. “A Hero of the Goddess Hylia,” it says and Legend starts. 

“A Hero of Time.” 

Laru makes a startled noise when Legend’s legs nearly buckle.

“You-” 

“You are running out of time,” the sprout continues and a cold breeze sweeps overhead. Legend feels Laru shiver against him. 

“What do you mean?” 

The sprout stares at him, before turning its gaze to Laru. 

“You are not of the forest, nor are you blessed by the goddess. And yet you are here.” 

Laru just stares back, clearly unable to express the amount of confusion that is apparent on his face. The sprout continues, effectively ignoring Laru’s silent questions. 

“Normally, I would not be so keen as to speak in front of someone who does not possess one of those titles, but seeing as he has survived the trials of the woods, I will make an exception.” 

Legend shivers as the sprout closes its eyes. Around them, the soft glow of the clearing now seems suddenly cold and unwelcoming. 

“You know that a great evil has pervaded this land, and the others of which you have traversed. It seeks the power to connect itself across these worlds and destroy them as one.” As it says this, Legend looks up to see something seep its way out of a crack in the husk of the Great Tree and drip down its side; black liquid, familiar and terrifying, trails its way over the cracked and uneven surface. Legend swallows, remembering the great roars from before.

“It came here, in the stolen form of a great beast,” the sprout continues. “Hoping to take the magic that keeps these woods green, but it was prideful and rash. It saw the body of my former self and grew enraged, believing that it had failed in its quest.” Its words take on an air of mild satisfaction. “It did not think to look down; it did not think to look at the ground it walks upon, which it considers lesser than itself, to see me where I sit, reborn in the name of the Goddess Hylia. So it did not think to take my power.” 

“You,” Laru finally speaks, voice weak. “You are the Great Tree. The thing that keeps these woods alive.” 

The sprout doesn’t respond, except to gaze upwards at Laru with a sort of old wisdom that Legend has never seen in the faces of mortals. 

“It left here,” the sprout says, continuing its tale. “It left to seek power elsewhere - it is headed to the dreaded temple and, should it find what it wants there, I fear there will be little you can do to stop it from reaching its next destination.” 

“What does it want?” Legend asks, desperate, but the cold wind returns, sweeping through them and leaving him feeling empty and fearful. The sprout closes its eyes, as if it is pained by the words it speaks next; 

“You must leave, now. Your welcome here is spent.” It opens eyes and looks to Legend, holding him in place with its stare. “The spirit of the Hero has granted you protection here, against the magic that traps those who are not of the woods, but it has run out. If you choose to remain here much longer, you will be Lost and the children will come to take you away.” 

Legend almost asks what that means, but then he remembers small hands and shrill voices, so he keeps his lips pressed tight together. 

“Walk,” the sprout says and Legend feels himself being turned, Laru along with him, by a force that is not his own. “Walk and do not stop, neither to drink nor rest, lest the mist finally catch up. I will grant you safe passage to the treeline.” 

Legend cannot see the sprout anymore as he and Laru are forced further away, back towards the misted woods. He feels his throat close with panic, but something soothes it; it is though there is a great hand upon his back, warm and protecting. Laru squeezes the arm around his waist, as if feeling it too, and the two of them stumble back into the woods just as the sprout speaks again, its voice becoming muffled as the mist closes the veil behind them. 

  
  


“Blessings, Hero of Legend. Blessings, History Man. Hold your swords and quills with the strength of those who have walked your paths before you. Tell your stories with the voices of those you serve. When the time comes to fulfil the duties that have been placed upon your shoulders, do not hesitate in the face of fear, but instead harness the courage and wisdom that so freely runs through your very beings. 

Blessed be your paths beneath the gaze of the goddess.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: 
> 
> Legend and Laru enter the Lost Woods and, after a while, discover a the skeleton of someone who was once 'lost.' They dig it up, hoping to find more information, but are interrupted by great roars, similar to those Legend heard on Mt. Lanayru. They run, becoming lost, and both end up injured in their escape. Legend is attacked by a mysterious magic that intends to claim him for the forest, but something within him fights back and he is able to escape it and save Laru as well. 
> 
> Injured, they try to find their way out, only to be attacked by the skeleton from before, now a stalfos. Legend manages to kill it, though not without exasperating his injury to the point of permanent damage. 
> 
> Eventually, the two manage to escape the woods into a great clearing, where they meet the Deku Sprout, which informs them that a great evil attempted to steal its power but failed; it is now heading towards the 'dreaded temple,' and that Legend and the others must stop it before it can gain the power it desires.


	17. Twilight III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The leaving and the going,   
The mystery of never knowing  
Struck dumb by the Goddess Divine  
I am halted by a golden hand  
A caught in the warmth of its glowing
> 
> To wander, aimless, in her presence  
To be free in her crafted heavens   
I need nothing but the air she breathed  
Into the world I came to know  
It is pervaded by her essence. 
> 
> \- Passage from the poem 'A Traveler In Hyrule' by Io Marv

Twilight is grateful for Wild for a lot of reasons; he can’t really list them out entirely, with some being as simple as ‘someone to talk to,’ but, at the moment, his mind sways between ‘Wild can be surprisingly (or maybe unsurprisingly) stoic in the face of mass disaster’ to ‘Wild is particularly good at talking someone down from a panic attack.’

Twilight isn’t having a panic attack, but Wild’s words soothe him nonetheless.

“It’s not that bad,” Wild says, and perhaps that isn’t the best way to start off a statement of comfort, but Wild has a way of speaking that’s far and few between; he brings a hand to Twilight’s shoulder, easing him forward as they begin to walk, and Twilight finds himself letting out a shuddering breath as Wild’s soft voice washes over him. “It’s only part of it,” Wild reassures him, quiet and reserved. “See? Look - not all is lost.” 

And he’s right, Twilight is mildly relieved to see; while the foremost section of Castle Town has been reduced to little more than a scattering of the skeletal remains of houses and smoldering rubble, the rest of it lays nearly untouched, save for a few caved in buildings here and there. Groups of townsfolk gather in the inner city, clustered close for comfort and watching with wary eyes as Twilight and Wild make their way slowly through their masses. Twilight scans their faces, weary and masked with soot, but, for the most part, alive, their eyes bright and brimming with emotion, and he finds himself deflating. A few hold themselves close, cradling injurings and loved ones, but most stand tall and unwavering, a testament to the courage that runs deep through their blood and heritage; his Hyrule, it seems, is as unwilling as ever to give up its people completely to the maw of evil. 

“See,” Wild murmurs again. “It’ll be alright.” 

Twilight looks at him, all scars and wild eyes, and wonders where it went wrong. 

They continue through the town, lending what aid they can in the form of fresh water and warm words. The people are grateful, if tired, and a few even recognise Twilight, pulling him into gentle embraces and whispering their ‘welcomes’ and ‘thanks.’ A soldier nods as they pass, his arm wrapped around his stomach. Twilight winces when he sees the red that stains the man’s armor. 

“Save the potions,” Wild mutters, but not unkindly. “We cannot risk the waste.” 

Twilight hums in agreement, ignoring the urge to give all that he has to the worn faces surrounding them, and instead leads Wild by the shoulder towards the castle.

The streets here are covered in soot and blood and the remains of creatures that Twilight finds himself cursing silently. 

“We’ll speak to the Queen,” he explains as they enter the courtyard, pausing only for Twilight to speak with one of the guards before the man gestures for them to continue on their way. Wild eyes him warily, his lips pursed in a way that makes Twilight sigh and hunch his shoulders. “I know,” he finally relents. “I know we ain’t too wealthy in terms of time, but…” He thinks of the town, of the people lining the streets, of endless night and frightened voices. “I just need to see if there’s anythin’ we can do… and then we can go.” 

Wild doesn’t respond, but his eyes soften and Twilight can almost see a thousand memories flash behind his gaze before he nods, slowly, and Twilight takes it as acceptance. 

The castle grounds are quiet save for the rushed footsteps of soldiers and attendants alike, moving like flustered spirits through the great stone halls and archways. They do not stop to speak with the two heroes as they pass, allowing them only the briefest of acknowledgment in the form of solemn glances and aborted nods. 

Twilight leads Wild through Hyrule Castle with a familiarity he isn’t keen to address; he has not been here for years, but the stone seems to mold itself around him like an old friend, strange passages becoming recognisable as soon as he sets his foot upon their expanse. Wild, for his part, says nothing, following Twilight like an obedient hound, always at his heels, never straying far from his figure; he has not spoken since Twilight’s announcement to see the Queen, but Twilight knows it is not out of anger or disagreement. 

Wild has the look of a soldier calculating his next move; his face is a mask of calm curiosity as he walks dutiful behind Twilight, but his eyes are bright with a sharpness that Twilight has only been privy to in the most quiet of moments; the lull in battle when it all goes unbearable still, as if even the slightest movement could be what sets off another wave of slaughter. Twilight has seen battle, in the roughest of terms, but true war is not something he has ever laid his own gaze upon directly; only in the eyes of his most recent companions and, even then, it is often veiled by a facade of glory and high tales. Wild’s gaze stalks the halls like a creature of the hunt, lingering on doorways and windows, tracing the lines of corridors as they pass by, and speaks of a past Twilight can only imagine. 

Twilight reaches back at one point, allowing his hand to graze Wild’s shoulder; he’s not sure who he’s trying to reassure, himself or his protégé, but Wild permits him the ghost of a smile all the same. 

Twilight does not bother heading to the Queen’s chambers - he’s not sure he’d be allowed there anyway - and, instead, he plots a path towards the study, pushing past the large wooden doors of the library and winding his way through the numerous shelves of tomes and scrolls. Behind him, Wild makes a small noise and Twilight glances back to see him pause slightly by a particularly large text, before shaking himself and shuffling to catch up. Twilight slows so that they are walking side by side. 

“Somethin’ you recognise?” 

“No,” Wild mumbles, gaze distant. “I don’t think so.” 

Any response Twilight could give is lost when they find themselves face to face with an arched door, the wood faded and worn. A single guard faces them as well, face open in unmistakable surprise at seeing the two of them suddenly in front of him. Twilight doesn’t recognise him - his face is rounded with youth and he eyes them with a wariness that speaks less of weary experience and more of callow caution. Twilight thinks he must be no older than Wind. 

“Um,” the guard stammers, before seemingly remembering what he’s there for and straightening up, putting on a rather impressive serious face. “I’m sorry, but the Queen is not seeing visitors at this time.” 

“It’s rather important,” Twilight tries, but sighs when the guard only raises an eyebrow at his accent and then shakes his head. 

“The Queen is not seeing visitors at this time. Please leave.” 

Twilight looks back at Wild, but his protégé makes no move to help him. In fact, Twilight notes with a hint of annoyance, the traitor has a gleam of mirth in his eyes, as if watching Twilight suffer at the hands of an inexperienced whelp is something like prime entertainment. 

Twilight clears his throat. 

“Listen, could’ya perhaps just let the Queen know that, er,  _ Link _ is here…?” 

The guard blinks, his facade dropping to reveal open confusion. 

“I, uh, I’m not supposed to-” 

Twilight scowls, more than a bit frustrated. 

“How old are you, anyways?” 

At this the guard goes red, his mouth snapping shut with an audible click. Twilight hears Wild snort softly behind him. 

“I’m sorry,  _ sir, _ ” the guard says with no small amount of condescension. “The Queen is not seeing  _ any _ visitors at the moment. You must leave immediately.” 

He even places a hand on the sword at his side, the little bastard, and Twilight has a brief moment of panic thinking ‘I’m about to brawl a child’ when the door behind the guard suddenly swings open and there she is, tall and beautiful and absolutely radiating discontent. 

“Y-your Majesty,” the guard stammers, stumbling back and the Queen steps out into the hall, her mouth set in a firm line. Her gaze rakes over the guard so harshly that Twilight can almost imagine rivulets of blood in its path, before coming to land on him instead. Recognition, surprise, and then hollow acceptance flash over her visage. 

“Link,” she states quietly, the name doing nothing to break the tension of the room. The Queen’s eyes flit quickly to Wild, before returning to burn a hole straight through Twilight’s very being.

The young guard glances between the three of them, pale. 

“Come in,” the Queen finally says and then turns to disappear back into the room, leaving no room for argument. Twilight feels a slight pressure at his side and looks to see Wild staring at him. He nods at the door, obviously waiting for Twilight to make the first move. 

Twilight sighs. 

“Thanks,” he mutters to guard as he passes and then he and Wild pass through the doorway and into the Queen’s study. 

He expects the quiet and the stale air - it is a study after all - but what he does not expect is to be surrounded by five other people in what appears to be the Queen holding a rather impromptu counsel. Twilight blinks, taken aback as the rest of the Queen’s guests all turn to face him, clearly not expecting such an interruption. 

A curse builds in the back of his mind, one that would probably send Time into some sort of coronary arrest, before the Queen makes a show of rounding her desk and sitting down rather stiffly into her chair, her hands folded elegantly in front of her over an array of papers that blanket her writing space. She makes a small ‘ahem’ and suddenly all attention is on her, backs straightening and shoulders tensing. Wild even snaps his heels together, something Twilight might normally laugh at were he not currently experiencing the most awkward moment of his existence. He feels horridly out of place. 

The Queen says nothing at first, regarding the room with cold calculation, before she quite abruptly waves her hand in dismissal. 

“Meeting adjourned,” she says flatly. “I’ll call on you soon; we have much more to discuss regarding the rebuilding efforts for the outer city. For now, I’d like some time alone with our newcomers.” 

There’s a fair amount of awkward shuffling before the Queen’s counsel, which Twilight is surprised to find consists of some familiar faces, begins to depart. A few send him the briefest of smiles as they pass, guards he remembers vaguely from his fated castle battle so long ago, and then he and Wild are standing alone in the silent presence of the Queen. She is not looking at them, instead examining the papers in front of her with a severe intensity. Twilight takes the moment to study her, years of separation making itself known. 

Time has not been kind to Zelda.

She is still beautiful, elegant in a way that can only be considered divine, but where he remembers soft cheeks and the swell of a body born of richness, only sharp edges remain. She is older, like him, but she has aged harshly, in a way that is different than his own. Her hair, piled high in tightly coiled braids behind her head, is streaked with grey that speaks grimly of the stress of ruling a kingdom. Her dress is nearly the same, the royal patterns and fashions having not changed much since his leaving, but she wears it differently now. It holds the weight of a burden, hanging from her shoulders like the limp sails of an old ship; where once the dip of its neckline might have invited images of flirtatious youth, it now only serves to accentuate the cut of her collar bone and paleness of her complexion. 

She has discarded her armor, Twilight notes, for a more classic sleeve. 

Her voice draws him from his musings with quiet command. 

“I am pleased to see that you are not dead.” 

She says it with the same cadence of someone who has just arrived to tell you your mother has passed. Twilight nods. She nods to Wild, who is still standing as though inches away from saluting her. 

“And your companion…?” 

Twilight stalls for a moment, before deciding that, of all people, she is one he cannot simply omit the truth from. 

“Link,” he says quietly, and does not miss the way Wild’s face flickers in surprise. The Queen tilts her head, questioning. “It is a long story,” Twilight decides on and, just like that, the matter is tucked away for another time. The Queen lifts a hand, long fingers tracing the edges of a teacup, the liquid inside gone cold, before she slowly stands. 

“I am assuming you are here because of the recent attack made on the outer rim of Castle Town.” 

Twilight nods again. 

“It was sudden,” the Queen continues. “A horde of monsters bombarding the gates and reeking havoc in the streets. The attack itself was preceded by a great storm that destroyed many of our defenses.” 

She says it as though the storm and the horde are a part of the same collective; Twilight says nothing to dissuade her otherwise. Instead, he takes a small step forward and the Queen nods, opening the floor to him. He takes a breath and tries to tone his accent down as best he can. 

“It’s attacked the Light Spirits.” He remembers Ordona’s words.  _ The last… the lake…  _ “It’s headin’ towards Lake Hylia. To the Lanayru Spring.”

“Why? Why has it attacked the Light Spirits?” 

“I don’t know. To gather power, perhaps, or to destroy them to weaken Hyrule further.” 

“You are chasing it.” 

Twilight looks back to Wild briefly. 

“Yes.” He pauses. “Your Majesty.” 

At this the Queen scoffs, though the sound is quiet enough that Twilight almost mistakes it as simple breathing. 

“You are in need of assistance, I presume, for your journey?” She finally asks and Twilight takes in a long breath.

“We just came to see if you needed… assistance, with the situation here, Your Majesty.” 

There is a long stretch of silence that follows this proclamation, one that leaves Twilight regretting his decision to come here in the first place. Wild is like a statue beside him and Twilight wishes he possessed the same control. Finally, the Queen walks to place herself in front of him. He notices, idly, that she is no longer taller than him. 

“Ever the hero,” she says softly, but there’s enough of an edge to her words that Twilight feels cut. She moves to stand before Wild as well, taking him in with such a critical eye that Twilight feels his hackles raise; he can see her staring, counting every scar and blemish, and part of him wants to simply grab Wild and haul him away from this place. 

He bites his tongue instead, swallowing a snarl, and watches as the Queen’s lips twitch in some perverted semblance of a smile. 

“You were trained as a soldier,” she states, leaving little room for disagreement, and Wild nods once, sharp and firm. The Queen stares. “Another hero, here to save Hyrule?” 

Wild meets her gaze this time and Twilight can see the challenge beneath the surface of his protégé’s blank face. The Queen must see it, too, but, rather than call attention to it, she chooses, instead, to turn towards a small bureau against the wall, producing a key from her pocket and unlocking the uppermost drawer. She rummages through its contents before turning back to them, a small chest in her hands, which she hands to Twilight.

“Inside you’ll find funds for your journey,” she says and Twilight knows better than to refuse. “I’m afraid the days of riding horseback and shooting light arrows are too far gone for me to reclaim now, so this will have to do. You should find enough there to buy you whatever you may find yourself in need of.” 

Twilight bows his head once, Wild following suit, and stows the chest in his bag. The Queen watches him as he does, before turning to Wild and offering a polite smile. It pulls at her lips unnaturally. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to Link alone. Your companion, I mean.” 

Wild blinks, sending Twilight a questioning glance, before nodding and backing out of the room. 

“I… will wait in the library…?” He says quietly, voice soft. The Queen simply waves her hand and, like a good soldier, Wild turns and disappears, the door shutting softly behind him. The sound of it is like a gavel and, all at once, trapped in the room alone with the Queen, Twilight feels like he is on trial. 

“Sit,” she says, motioning to a chair left abandoned by one of her counsel members. Twilight does. 

The Queen sits once more as well, sinking into her seat with a small sigh. Twilight waits. 

“It has been a long time,” she murmurs, staring at her tea cup. Twilight nods. 

Behind her sits a grand window, stained glass bathing the room in an array of colors; the depiction is that of an elegant maiden, her hand raised above her as she emits a powerful burst golden light. The Queen sits before it and is back lit, her features cast in shadow as she lifts her head to meet Twilight’s cautious stare. 

“Many things have changed since you’ve been gone. I won’t go into much detail; the ins and outs of ruling a kingdom alone are things that do not make for very good conversation.” She pauses, hesitation painting her parted lips. “However… some things cannot be avoided.” 

Twilight feels his hair stand on end when the Queen’s face morphs into a mask of dull politeness, any hint of emotion wiped clean as she straightens in her chair. 

“Seeing as I am soon to be reaching an age where the birth of an heir will be of great importance, I have been informed by my advisors that it is in my favor to marry rather promptly.” 

“Oh, uh. Sorry?” Twilight says. 

“Yes,” the Queen agrees. “It is not the most ideal of situations. However, you’ve arrived just in time seeing as you are the one whose hand I intend to take.” 

Twilight blinks. 

“ _ What? _ ” 

The Queen hums, ignoring Twilight’s spluttering in favor of pulling out a lengthy document from the depths of her desk drawer. 

“Your surprise is well placed,” she says. “Indeed, many may think you not worthy, considering your upbringing, but being the Hero of Hyrule and a Chosen One of the Goddess Divine does lend you a sort of credibility that is rather difficult to come by in the average knight.” 

A sort of half-moan bubbles from Twilight’s throat as he sinks further down into his chair, gaze drifting sideways as the Queen continues on, oblivious. 

“I’ve cleared it with my court; your status as the Hero negates any societal misgivings regarding your less than satisfactory bloodline, seeing as you are technically of divine spirit, and your deeds towards the kingdom have won you favor with the masses. If all goes according to plan, we will be wed upon your return from your current quest and we can begin preparations towards the raising of an heir to the throne. Obviously you’ll need training in the ways of the royal lifestyle, but such things can be arranged post ceremony, seeing as, which I’m sure you understand, I am quite keen to get this underway.” 

Twilight takes in a shuddering breath, before pushing himself up and staggering to his feet. The Queen breaks off, watching him in confusion. 

“Uh.” His brain stalls. “I’m… I’m good, actually… but… thank you? For the offer?” 

“You…” the Queen starts and then shakes her head, disbelief written clearly on her face. “You’re refusing?” 

“Um. Yes.”

“ _ Why? _ ” 

The word falls sharp from her tongue, piercing him deep enough that it takes a moment for him to gather his thoughts. 

“I’m… flattered,” he tries, but aborts the attempt when the Queen’s upper lip twitches. “I’m just not interested.” 

“I’m the Queen.” 

“Well, yes-” 

“We defeated Ganondorf together.” 

“I’m aware, I just-” 

“I figured we would be suitable partners considering our shared past and general amicability towards each other.” 

Twilight wants to point out that most of their ‘shared past’ actually involved her staying at the castle and him running around the country with another woman, but he figures such a quip would be inappropriate here. Instead, he takes a step back as the Queen stands to her full height. Her voice rings in his ears like a broken bell. 

“The people would see it as a classical union, due to the history of heroes marrying into the Royal Family, and you would live the rest of your life comfortably within these halls. You would receive your own chambers, personal servants, as well as command over the army in times of war.” 

“That all sounds well and good, but-” 

“Oh, do not tell me you are still clinging to the fantasy of  _ her  _ returning.” 

Twilight makes a sound of indignation, pain and anger and cold betrayal resurfacing all at once. For a moment, his vision blurs, but he quells it with a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. 

“Your Majesty,” he says, soft, but firm. “Forgive me, but I really cannot accept this offer.” 

Her gaze hardens. 

“And what if this is not an offer?” 

The tension in the room is suffocating; Twilight feels his left hand twitch towards the hilt of his sword. 

“Then I’m afraid I’d be forced to leave the kingdom permanently, Your Majesty.” 

The Queen looks rather taken back by that, her eyes wide and owlish; Twilight watches warily as she lifts the document from her desk, holding it with delicate fingers. 

“I see.” She absently lets the paper go, allowing it to float gently back down to the desk, abandoned. "Then I believe we are done here.” 

“Your Majesty-” 

“I will have the guards escort you and your companion to the main gates.” 

“Wait, my Queen, I-” 

“You have much to attend to, as do I.” 

“Zelda-” 

“Do not-” she starts, her voice like a snarl, and Twilight stiffens. The Queen takes a long breath. “Do not call me  _ that _ . Once… maybe... but you have been gone a long time... and we never had much of a friendship to begin with. You were simply a Hero,” and she says it with such contempt. “A Hero who visited when called and then disappeared to chase some wild dream, while the rest of us continued to live the lives we had no choice but to continue.”

Twilight falls quiet, looking down; he feels a strange combination of relief and shame. 

“I am sorry,” he says finally. 

“Yes,” the Queen says and, when he glances up, Twilight sees her looking out the window. “I imagine you are.” 

She says nothing after that, her lips drawn in a tight line across her face, and Twilight takes it as his cue to leave. He bows deeply, scrutinizing the floor beneath his feet. When he straightens back up, the Queen is still looking away from him, but he does not miss the slight tremble of her lips as he quietly backs away and out of the room.

The young guard is still standing by the door and he jumps when Twilight appears, stammering an apology for earlier. Twilight ignores him, making his way back into the main library. As large as it is, with its maze-like shelves and alcoves, he finds Wild rather easily. Maybe it’s because he knows him well enough by now, or maybe it’s because Wild is choosing to be found; either way, Twilight comes upon his protégé curled up amongst the plush pillows of a reading alcove, bent over the pages of an old worn tome, the pages of which he turns rather loudly. The only indication Twilight receives that Wild is aware of his presence is a twitch of the other’s ear at his approach. Twilight doesn’t say anything, allowing Wild to finish whatever he’s doing; he chances a glance at the page and is surprised to see a rather detailed illustration rather than a passage. He leans over, smiling a bit when Wild offers his shoulder as an armrest. 

The picture is that of a great boar with a wild flaming mane, its gaping maw open in what must be a roar, its terrible teeth sharp and white. Twilight feels a shudder run through him. 

Wild runs a finger along the length of the creature. 

“Ganon,” he says quietly. 

Twilight hums. 

“Is he always a boar?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Was he for you?” 

Twilight doesn’t respond right away, his mind caught up in memories of endless twilight and horrid battle. 

“For part of the time,” he finally says and Wild looks up at him, his eyes searching. 

“What was he for the rest of it?” 

“A man,” Twilight says and steps back, offering a hand for Wild to take. Wild does so, but only after closing the book gently and setting it on a nearby desk. He’s still watching Twilight intensely when they both begin to walk towards the exit and finally Twilight turns to him. 

“What?” 

“What happened in there?” Wild asks, nodding to the back of the library, where the Queen’s study door sits hidden by various shelves. “You looked pale as a ghost when you came back.” 

“Nothing important.” 

“Bullshit.” 

Twilight shrugs, wishing that Wild weren’t so perceptive. 

“It was nothing. It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

Wild says nothing after that and Twilight is grateful. He’s about to thank him, and perhaps promise to speak on it later, but he’s interrupted by the soft ‘excuse me’ of a guard as they push through the library doors. 

“I’m under orders to escort you two to the main gate,” the guard says, her voice kind, but firm enough that Twilight knows they must follow. Wild seems to understand as well, and the two of them allow the guard to lead them back through the castle, through the courtyard, and to the main castle gates, where she leaves them with a bow and a sharp nod. 

They stand there, watching as she disappears back within the castle, before Wild turns to Twilight once more and nudges him with his shoulder. 

“We should go,” he says, and Twilight is again grateful that he lets the conversation with the Queen go. 

The inner city of Castle Town is still intact, it’s proximity to the castle lending it the advantage of better protection and access to the Royal Guard. As they walk through the streets, Twilight can’t help but notice that most of the shops are still open, as if unaware that most of the outer city has been decimated. In fact, most of the people they come across act as if nothing is amiss, despite the countless amounts of displaced outer city citizens currently wandering through the streets. Twilight can’t help the prickle of annoyance as they come across one particular vendor who acts as though the entire attack was meant to happen. 

“I mean really,” he chatters as he hands Twilight a parcel of wrapped bread and cheese, eyeing the rupees in the hero’s outstretched hand. He gestures to a young woman nearby, her dress coated in soot and blood. She cradles a small child. “It’s not as if the outer city contributes that much anyway.” 

Wild raises an eyebrow from where he’s examining a rack of drying meats. Twilight, in the meantime, decides he is not about to continue the conversation and drops the rupees onto the vendor’s stand before abruptly turning away, Wild trotting to catch up to him. 

“We’re buying some horses, and then we’re leaving,” Twilight says firmly. He’s sick of this place.

* * *

With the Queen’s funds, they manage to buy not only two good horses, sturdy and well bred, but the dressings to go along with them. Twilight sighs the minute he settles down into the saddle, missing Epona, but already feeling more at home than he has since they first appeared in his Hyrule. Wild looks equally content, cooing happily at his horse as he runs a hand through her mane. Their saddlebags are full and their water skins bounce joyfully against their thighs.

“Alright,” Twilight announces, spurring his horse onwards. “Let’s save some spirits.” 

Their journey is quick, both of them agreeing to stop no longer than it takes for their horses to rest and replenish before they are racing across the land once more, Twilight leading the way. Wild keeps up easily, at times taking the lead with a whoop and holler; Twilight feels himself relaxing into the ride. They have a mission, they’re heroes of course, but rather than apprehensive, he feels a heavy wave of nostalgia and a rush of adrenaline. Even the familiarity of his Hyrule loses the chill it has had since his return, the act of introducing it to Wild bringing about feelings of newness that he has not felt since he first stepped outside the boundaries of Ordon all those years ago. 

By the time they reach Lake Hylia, Twilight has nearly forgotten the past few days; he feels light, laughing along with Wild’s, frankly, terrible jokes and having fun showing off of his ‘fancier’ riding moves. He can almost pretend, for a moment, that he’s travelling again, fresh from his Hero’s quest and free to go where he pleases. 

The illusion is shattered, of course, when they finally reach the lakebed and Twilight feels his breath leave him all at once. 

“Hylia,” Wild mutters beside him. 

Gone is the pristine blue of Lake Hylia, replaced now by an inky blackness that pervades the entire lake. The air here is still, heavy with a humidity that sinks through the layers of Twilight’s tunic and leaves him feeling feverish. Beneath him, his horse twitches, pawing at the ground in obvious distress. 

“Leave ‘em here,” he says to Wild as he climbs down from his saddle, tying his horse’s lead to a nearby tree. Wild does the same, eyeing the lake the entire time. 

“How are we getting to this Spirit Spring exactly?”

Twilight crouches down, hiking the cuffs of his pants as he does. 

“There,” he says, pointing to an outcrop of rocks towards one side of the lake. “There’s a system of caverns and caves beneath the lake - most of them make up the Zora’s Domain, but there’s an entrance area that leads to Lanayru Spring. There should be a bridge that leads underground.” 

Wild studies the lake. 

“Is that how you found the spring of your journey?”

“Oh Hylia, no,” Twilight says, getting to his feet. “I had to jump from there-” he points to the center of the Great Hylian Bridge over the lake “-and go down into Zora’s Domain.” 

Wild eyes the inky black water of the lake and shakes his head. 

“You could not pay me to swim in that.”

“That’s why I suggested the caverns, Cub.”

Wild rolls his eyes, elbowing Twilight lightly, and then beginning the trek along the edge of the water, looking back over his shoulder. 

“Well, let’s get going then,” he calls and, with maybe a bit of extra flare, pulls a strange sword from his slate. “Heroes of Hylia and all, saving spirits. Defeating evil.”

Twilight watches as he goes, before sighing and drawing his sword as well, grimacing as he takes one last look over the dark lake, before following after Wild, 

* * *

What little light manages to pierce the veil of darkness that permeates the cavern entrance is soon lost as they travel deeper into the caves and tunnels below, trading fresh air for stale breaths and the unending trickle of water that seeps in from above. 

Wild’s blade glows, humming quietly in the silence of the cave, and the stone walls around them are cast in an eerie blue, their slick surfaces shimmering faintly. Twilight reaches out, running tentative fingers through a small stream of water and immediately flinches back with a yelp.

In front of him, Wild spins around, his blade at the ready. 

“What happened?” 

Twilight stares at his fingers; they’re stained black, tingling as if burned, and he hurriedly wipes them on his tunic. 

“It’s like from before. On the mountain,” he says as Wild leans over, taking Twilight’s hand gingerly in his own and turning it over, biting his lip in worry. “The dragon and the black… liquid.” 

“It’s from the lake above, filtering down through the ground,” Wild says quietly. He looks over Twilight. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Twilight confirms, inspecting his hand. “I think so.” 

If Wild sticks a bit closer than before, Twilight doesn’t comment. 

He’s not sure how long they travel for, the light of Wild’s blade almost hypnotic as it sways in front of them. Neither talk, save for when Twilight directs them through various passageways. At one point, Wild jumps, stumbling back with a hiss and swiping at his shoulder. 

“Damn it,” he mutters as Twilight inspects the spot of black on Wild’s sleeve, a trail of steam curling up and catching the light of his blade. Wild lifts the sword, biting out another curse, and Twilight looks up to see the ceiling of the cavern covered in stalactites, inky trails coating their surfaces and dripping foul blackness onto the floor below. 

Twilight shifts Wild aside as another drop falls. 

“Watch your head, I guess,” he mutters and Wild lets out a defeated sigh, bringing the hood of his cloak up over his head. Twilight follows suit, the wolf’s pelt offering at least a little protection. He turns back to see Wild staring at him with a pained expression. 

“What?” He asks, checking himself over.

“...nothing,” Wild replies, gaze lingering on the fur framing Twilight’s face. He shakes his head and then pushes ahead, grim. “Let’s go before any more weird liquid falls on us. I have enough burn scars as it is.” 

Twilight squints at him, tempted to ask if this has anything to do with their ‘fight’ from before this whole mess, but in the end decides that now isn’t the time to pursue whatever’s been bothering his protégé. 

_ Later,  _ he tells himself and draws his pelt tighter around himself.

He can see Wild up ahead, the blue of his blade bouncing off the walls as he walks, and Twilight runs after him, about to call out for him to slow down, when the entirety of the stone surrounding them suddenly shudders with the force of a thunderous roar that comes rushing through the chamber, echoing off the walls and sending Twilight stumbling and crashing forward into Wild, who yells as they go tumbling to the ground, his blade slipping from his grasp. It skitters away, its light dancing erratically. 

Twilight scrambles to his knees, still half bent over Wild, who’s staring ahead with wide eyes. 

“That sounded like-” Wild starts, but he’s cut off by another roar. Twilight arches over him as everything around them shakes.

“Hylia, not again,” Twilight yells over the noise. Above him, a horrible noise, like the sound of a mountain splitting, tears through the bellowing that threatens to deafen them both, and Twilight whips his head upwards to see, with dawning horror, the ceiling of the cavern above begin to crack, rivulets of black ink seeping through.

He staggers to his feet, hauling Wild upwards along with him and then shoving him forward. 

“Move!” 

Wild doesn’t question him, just reaches back to grab his arm and starts running, dragging Twilight along with him. Twilight feels the burning of the terrible liquid hitting his back and shoulders, but he shoves the pain down. He can see the steam rising from Wild’s clothes as well and then the caverns shake again, the roar morphing into a terrible screech, and Twilight is nearly dowsed by a sudden deluge of darkness that pours from a large fissure in the ceiling. 

“Twi-” He hears Wild’s cry, cut off by panic as his protégé stutters to a halt, grabbing at Twilight and trying to push him back the way they came. In front of them, the passageway has begun to flood, steaming pools forming on the ground. Twilight pulls Wild back from it, only to find that behind them, the same is beginning to occur. 

Panic pierces him like a cursed blade. Pressed close to his side, Wild is frantically swiping through his slate, eyes wide, before a drop hits his hand and he nearly drops the damned thing; he shoves it back on his belt and turns to look at Twilight. 

“I don’t…” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t… I can’t warp us out with the Slate… it won’t work… it won’t…” He lifts his hands helplessly. 

“Ok,” Twilight tries and pulls him back towards a nearby wall, searching desperately for some way out. “It’s ok, we’ll be ok, we just have to-” 

Another roar rips the world apart, sending both liquid fire and cavern wall down over them and Twilight chokes on pain and fear as, somewhere, their blade is finally buried and the light goes out. 

He cannot see anything, but he can hear; he can hear the roar of some terrible creature and he can hear the sloshing of what used to be water all around him and he can hear Wild, spluttering and calling his name and then he feels Wild’s grip on his arm falter, fingers scrambling to stay tangled in the fabric of sleeves and then it’s gone, Wild giving out one more cry before a wave slams them both into the wall and away from each other. 

And then Twilight only hears the rush of the lake around him as it falls, flooding the caverns and caves and passage and he takes one last desperate breath before the lake over takes him, swirling around him in a vortex of black water. 

And it burns. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :>


	18. Twilight IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come around again, won't you? 
> 
> You are like the autumn leaf;   
so quick to arrive, to shine your beauty,   
and then so quick to leave.   
To die. 
> 
> Your beauty is in your death, in your leaving.   
I could compare you to a flower,   
to a delicate nightshade,   
but I can dry a flower,  
preserve it in the pages of by journal.   
A leaf will crumble should I try   
to hold it in my embrace any longer than I should.   
So I'll compare you to the autumn leaf.   
A burst of beauty and colour   
to mark the death of warmth and spring from this world;   
The beauty of your arrival   
marks are inevitable departure from mine.
> 
> But you will come around again,   
You'll return to this place we love so   
And I will hold you in my arms once more.   
And when you begin to crumble,   
To fold in the cradle of my embrace,   
I'll let you flutter unceremoniously to the ground   
And I'll pray for the seasons to turn quickly this time. 
> 
> \- Poem, Author Unknown, found in a chest in the Castle Town ruins

There is a brief moment of respite in the darkness; utter silence, weightlessness, where everything he feels is muffled, as though blanketed in quilts. The dark, for just a moment, is comforting, nostalgic, even, and he can almost imagine it as night; quiet, starless night, as he lies in the shelter of a tree’s roots, the comfort of another as she presses against his back and he curls around his own unfamiliar body, feeling more like himself than he ever has before. 

The moment doesn’t last long; he is pulled down by the current, his breath ripped from his lips as he is slammed against the cavern floor. He writhes, his entire body like fire, and then black water comes rushing into his mouth as well, threatening to burn him from the inside out. The current pulls him from the floor and down the passage, sweeping him through endless black, and another memory rises, bobbing to the surface of whatever semblance of consciousness he’s managed to maintain and he sees, for a moment, his own face staring back at himself in the din, warped and grinning, a mere shadow of his own visage, and then that is gone as well and he feels himself begin to slip away; his limbs become too heavy and his chest becomes too tight and so he just stops, giving one last kick in a feeble attempt to right himself before the darkness becomes even darker…

There is a flash, a bang, a great and thunderous moment that invades every sense of his own being; what’s left of him, listless in the dark, is pushed aside by something far older and far more angry - rage, primal in its origins and unstoppable in its great expanse, burst forward from somewhere deeper than his own identity, along with something else that he weakly recognises as  _ blatant refusal _ , and then Twilight’s vision goes golden. 

The next thing he knows, he is breaching the surface, gasping the stale cavern air with a ravenous maw. The remnants of  _ something  _ begin to fade; it feels like fire - real fire, not the sting of tainted water, but the heat of fury and adrenaline. He feels a strength that is his and not his, the remains of it coursing through his veins and forcing him upwards, leaving him; he feels courage unlike any he has every possessed, except maybe in the brief moments of a battle he tries not to remember, and then it rushes out of him, leaving him shivering as the current continues to swirl around him. 

He is changed; his fur drags him downward while his paws claw upwards. He still cannot see, but he can smell; there is the acrid air that stings his nose and throat and leaves him gagging on more than just the water, but there is something else as well, faint, but ever present, and sick relief flushes through him as he recognises the mineral scent of the cavern walls. He kicks his legs feebly, forcing himself to turn against the current, and begins to swim in earnest, growling with frustration. 

It’s only when his paws touch stone beneath him, the water shallow enough that he can stand, that he notices he can no longer feel the sting of the water on his skin; instead, he feels only the biting chill of the cavern air. He nearly succumbs to exhaustion and relief; he might’ve, if not for the gasp of air somewhere behind him and a raucous splashing. 

“Twilight!” 

His name bursts forth, choked and desperate, and suddenly he can smell Wild as well, from where he’s struggling to stay above the water.

Despite the burn in his lungs and his mouth and the pull of the shore, which must be only a few feet away, Twilight doesn’t hesitate to turn, forcing himself back into the poison and lunging forward, his teeth closing around cloth; he pulls, yanking Wild back as his protègè turns to tangle his fingers into Twilight’s pelt. 

He trudges back to the rock, scrambling up onto its slick surface, eyes watering and breath coming in harsh gasps; Wild isn’t much better, by the sound of it. Twilight can’t see him in the darkness, but he can hear the way his companion’s ragged breath catches in his raw throat, resulting in a horribly wet coughing. Twilight drags them further up the stone before collapsing, Wild toppling over to drape himself across Twilight’s back. 

They remain there, trembling uncontrollably, until, finally, it begins to fade and they lay, silent, save for their harsh breathing. After a moment, Twilight feels a hand at his head, a warm palm and deft fingers dragging themselves over his ears and trailing through the fur at his neck and he realizes, with mild amusement, that he is being pet. He leans into the touch as it returns to the crown of his head and then curls around an ear, nails scratching softly at its base. Despite himself, his tail thumps against the wet stone. 

Wild, for his part, says nothing; just continues to methodically run his fingers through Twilight’s fur; his breathing has slowed, becoming quiet and steady, and it doesn’t take much to see that he’s comforting more than just Twilight after such an ordeal. Wild doesn’t seem to realize what he’s doing until he draws in a sharp breath and his hand retracts; he pulls away completely then, sitting up and shifting back a few inches. Twilight raises his head, searching in the darkness, but only the sound of Wild shuffling for something on his belt betrays his presence, until the sudden bloom of blue light accosts Twilight’s vision and he’s forced to turn away as Wild activates his slate. When his eyes finally adjust, he chances a glance. 

In the harsh glow of the slate, Wild looks ghostly; his face is pale, set in a grim expression with his mouth pulled into a thin line. His hair is still soaking, hanging in strands from his head, and his hands shake ever so slightly as they tap the screen. 

Twilight lets out a questioning sound, leaning over to nudge Wild’s foot, and feels a stab of hurt when Wild flinches, his gaze flicking to meet Twilight’s until quickly moving away. It’s enough for Twilight to see the guilt in his eyes, though. 

He’s beyond exhausted, but Twilight summons the strength to shift back, groaning as his limbs realign themselves, his joints cracking loudly in the silence of the dark; he snaps his teeth together a few times, his jaw settling back in place. All at once, the scents of the caverns are muted and only the persisting sourness of the tainted water remains, hanging in the air. 

Wild is watching him out of the corner of his eye, still looking like he’s about to go on trial. Twilight sighs. 

“It ain’t your fault,” he says and Wild starts, turning his head fully to face Twilight with a look of confusion and… horror? His hands have stilled at the slate. 

“The water,” Twilight clarifies, gesturing to their surroundings. “It ain’t your fault, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. If anythin’, it’s my fault for leadin’ us down here when the lake looked the way it did.” 

Wild stares at him, his expression tormented, before his shoulders drop and, suddenly, Twilight gets the distinct feeling that that is not at all what Wild was thinking. 

Twilight prides himself on being able to read people relatively well, his fellow heroes in particular, but, as Wild’s face goes incredibly blank, he realizes he cannot read his protègè at all. He’s about to ask what’s wrong, his memory stepping back to not so long ago and their silent standoff in Wild’s Hyrule, when Wild stands, cutting off any room for discussion, and shines the light of his slate out into the darkness; it’s not strong enough to see very far, but the blue light reflects upon the surface of the water closest to them and Twilight curls his lip as he sees steam curling up from its surface.

Wild stares at it silently for a moment, his gaze dragging over the water and then to the outcropping of rock they’re sitting on, before he purses his lips and turns slightly to Twilight. 

“How,” he starts quietly, voice rough. “Did we survive that?” 

Twilight opens his mouth to answer, but finds he doesn’t have anything to say. He lifts his arm and is surprised to see it relatively clean. 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, running his hand over the fabric, but feeling no sting from the wetness that remains. He struggles to his feet, exhaustion still tangling his limbs like ivy, and looks around. Beyond the glow the slate, the darkness persists, but something about this place feels familiar, regardless. Hesitantly, Twilight steps forward, casting his hands out to feel in front of him. He can feel Wild watching him. He takes another step, and then another, and then yelps as he nearly topples over when the ground disappears beneath his foot; a hand lashes out and grips his collar, yanking him back into Wild, who wraps an arm around around his waist and keeps him from falling over the ledge somewhere in front of them. 

“Thanks,” Twilight exhales shakily and Wild grunts, squeezing him once before letting go and shining his slate forward; Twilight inhales sharply as the light falls upon the ledge, cascading over stone and revealing the large pit in front of them. It doesn’t take him long to notice the tree roots as well, trailing down from above, along the surrounding walls and into the water below; the water which, as Wild angles his light downward, is clear and still. 

“Lanayru Spirit Spring,” he breathes and peers further over the edge, ignoring the hand that lands on his shoulder to steady him. Wild leans over as well, grimacing. 

“Look,” he whispers, nodding to the water, and Twilight lets out a hiss as he notices the tendrils of black invading the spring; they almost remind him of veins filled with black blood, trailing beneath sickly skin. 

“Gross,” he mutters. 

“It’s like it’s infecting it.” Wild scowls as he says it, his lip curling, and Twilight watches as he steps back, eyeing the water like it is a predator about to pounce. “I don’t like this.” 

The way he says it denotes something deeper than simple discontent, a heaviness to his words and a sudden faraway look that reminds Twilight of when Wild remembers something from  _ Before _ ; like he’s gone into a sort of trance. This time though, Wild only shakes his head and takes another step back. He doesn’t say it, but Twilight can tell he wants to leave. 

Twilight does too, if he’s being honest, but, besides the fact that he has no idea how they would even get out of this place, there's a sense of duty and dread that urges him forward, toward the spring. Wild feels it too, if the way he’s staring at the ledge is any indication, his hand drifting to his slate. Twilight bites his lip and draws his blade. 

“We have to go down there.” It’s not really a question, but Twilight can’t bring himself to make it a command either. Wild only sighs and taps his slate, producing another strange sword, the blade a pale orange, before he shuffles up to stand beside Twilight. He’s a bundle of nerves, tense and thrumming with energy. 

“I don’t like this,” he says one more time and then, before Twilight can stop him or suggest a plan of action, Wild steps gracefully from the ledge and plummets down, the light from his slate following him and leaving Twilight once again in darkness. 

Twilight blinks in disbelief, before irritation replaces it and he leaps as well, a scolding already building in his throat. It’s not too far a jump, but he still winces as he lands, falling to one knee in the water; it’s shallow, like the Ordon Spring, coming only to his calves. He stands and stalks over to where Wild is crouched, studying the water intensely.

“Hey!” He growls, reaching to yank Wild upwards, but his protègè shushes him, waving his hand to keep him quiet. Twilight falters, irritation fading into confusion as Wild points at the water. 

“Twilight...” Wild whispers and dunks his hand into the water; Twilight watches in fascination as the black tendrils shy away, forming a little circle of pure water around Wild’s hand. He looks down and makes a noise of surprise when he realizes that around his own feet, the water is pure. 

“I…” he starts and bends down to cup his hand into the water, drawing up a small well, before bringing it to his lips; Wild makes a choked noise, reaching to stop him, but Twilight simply takes a sip, blinking when he tastes nothing more than pure water. “It’s fine,” he says, though Wild doesn’t seem too sure. 

“And you call me ‘reckless,’” he says, peering into Twilight’s hand. Twilight huffs and lets the rest of the water slip between his fingers, back into the spring, the droplets sending ripples over its still surface. 

“That’s because you are-” 

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. One moment he’s staring at the slate’s light reflecting off the water’s expanse and then suddenly the spring is erupting around them, a terrible roar shaking the world. 

Twilight stumbles, steadied only by Wild, who grabs him and hauls him back into the shadow of the cliff; from there, they watch the water of the spring begin to rise, the tendrils flowing upwards along the form that reveals itself, long and twisting. From beneath the water, Twilight can see golden light trying to burst forth as the creature writhes, twisting and crying out. 

“Oh, Hylia,” he murmurs as the Light Spirit screams, a great shudder running along its form as the black tendrils curl around it like suffocating vines, slowly covering its wondrous shine. 

All at once, the light of the spirit dies and, only a moment later, so does the light of Wild’s slate. 

“What-” Wild crys, but he’s cut off as a wall of force slams them both into the cliff face. Twilight howls, pain lancing up his right arm and he swings his left outwards, snarling in satisfaction as he feels his sword tear through whatever’s in front of him, the blade sinking through dark water and then something almost viscous. It’s only when he tries to pull it out does he realize his mistake; he struggles against in the dark, trying desperately to pull away as something wraps first around his blade and then up his arm, searing through leather and fabric and then skin. 

Desperate, he lets go of his sword, a pang of sorrow ripping through him as he feels the Ordonian blade slip away, before the burning pain redoubles and he’s pulled forward as well, his arm sinking further into the creature in front of him. 

“Fuck!” The word tears itself from his throat, choked and frantic. He feels the burning at his shoulder now, creeping toward his neck; the fumes in his mouth and nose are nauseating and he gags helplessly. 

There’s voice, then, yelling out his name, and then another force slams into his side, jostling his right arm; Twilight whimpers as Wild scrambles blindly to grab a hold of him, latching onto his sleeve. Light blooms in existence, firelight dancing along stone and pale faces, as Wild’s sword suddenly illuminates, heat rolling off it in waves. He brings it down across the wall of what is slowly turning into inky sludge and the scream that responds leaves Twilight reeling, his head spinning at the sound; it echoes around the spring’s chamber, ringing and terrible, and Twilight swears it sounds almost layered, as if more than one creature is trapped within the torment. Wild roars in response, his sword arching downwards once more, hissing as it carves a fiery path through what was once a holy spirit.

Twilight winces at the sight, before the creature retreats like the tide, pulling with it water and dark affliction alike; Wild uses the moment to pull Twilight away as well, the two of them stumbling to the other side of the spring. Wild’s blade gives off just enough light to see the shadowy form of the terrible creature as it slinks away, moaning from its wound.

Twilight’s right arm hangs listless by his side; he tests his fingers, moving them experimentally only to be greeted by nothing more than a small twitch of his middle finger and no small amount of pain. His other arm burns, the leather of his vambrace nearly eroded away entirely and his sleeve in tatters. Beneath, he can see the beginnings of rathery nasty burn snaking its way up the length of the limb. 

Wild is still watching the creature, sword held in front of him defensively. After a moment, he sheathes it, the firelight disappearing as well only to be replaced by the flame of the fire arrow that Wild pulls from his quiver and then notches in the cradle of a golden bow, aiming it across the spring. 

“You’re arm,” he says, not looking at Twilight. “The left one. Can it still wield a sword?” 

Twilight lifts the limb in question, wincing as the skin pulls. 

“Not for long.” 

“It’ll have to do,” Wild says and nods to his own sword. “Take it. It’s a Flame Sword.” 

“I guessed as much,” Twilight says, but grabs the hilt anyways, hefting the sword and ignoring the way his arm protests. His palm burns as it grips worn leather. His right arm, aching from finger to shoulder, swings helplessly. “I ain’t goin’ to be able to do much,” he admits. 

Wild grimaces. 

“Just keep me covered. I have a feeling this thing won’t like it when I shoot it. Might send some nasty stuff our way.” He breathes deeply through his nose. “I’ll try to keep it at a fair distance, but I might need some backup if it decides to come any closer.” 

“Aye,” Twilight says and readies the sword. A part of him screams at the idea of fighting the light spirit. Of killing a creature of the goddess. Somewhere in the dark, the spirit groans, guttural and harsh, multiple voices lamenting their anguish.

He thinks of Nayru, high on the mountain, spitting black blood and splitting the earth. He sighs.

“Shoot.” 

* * *

Despite shooting practically blind, Wild’s first arrow hits its mark, sinking into the mass of the tainted creature and bursting into flames that dance wildly up its length, revealing it in flashes of flickering orange; Twilight feels sick looking at it, the once beautiful spirit reduced to a mass of foulness and scourge. Another arrow lands and, in the resulting firelight, Twilight sees more than just the serpentine form of the Lanayru Light Spirit; something else erupts from its mass, like a twisted hand reaching out, before the light dies and Twilight is left horrified and confused. 

The spirit screeches from another arrow, not unlike the tainted dragon from not so long ago, and begins to thrash wildly, sending waves of water and black blood toward them. Twilight moves in front of Wild, slashing through a barrage of tendrils that snake their way forward. A few droplets hit his skin and he hisses at the sting. 

“I have a feelin’ whatever was protectin’ us before ain’t workin’ now,” he yells, but Wild only growls and lets loose another arrow. A spray of black erupts from the spirit. 

They continue on like this, Wild sending arrow after arrow at the creature and revealing it in flashes of horrific flame, the perversion of the spirit becoming ever clearer, while Twilight fends off whatever foulness it sends their way; at the very least, they keep the creature at bay, pushing it back whenever it dares draw any closer, but Twilight knows it won’t last forever; his arm is beginning to go numb, his grip on the sword weakening by the minute - at one point, he nearly drops it, the hilt slipping from his shaking fingers. He only saves it at the last minute, willing his fist to close more tightly and heaving the weight of the weapon upwards with a strangled gasp. 

It’s when Wild releases another arrow and, instead of flames, ice bursts forth from the creature, that Twilight knows their plan is doomed to fail. 

“Out of fire arrows,” Wild mutters, confirming Twilight’s fear; he reaches back to his quiver for another arrow of pale blue light. His bow arm shakes with exertion, his knuckles white at the grip of the bow. 

“What else you got?” Twilight asks, bringing his blade down over a tendril that’s decided to get too close. Wild shoots again, wincing as another horrid scream fills the spring. 

“Ice, bomb arrows, some regular ones,” he grits out, taking aim once more. “Shock.”

This last part he says quietly. Twilight glances at him. 

“Shock?” 

“Can’t use it here,” Wild replies quickly. “Electric. The water will carry the current and we’ll get caught up in the flow.” 

Twilight remembers a particularly unpleasant encounter with bari, shuddering at the memory. He watches the dim form of the spirit as it twists in the water, nearly unrecognisable from the last time he had seen it; steam billows out from what he can only guess is its mouth and it heaves, a great flood of inky goop sloshing into the spring below. He looks back to where Wild is panting. 

His arm aches. 

“I don’t think we have much of a choice, Cub,” he finally says. Wild doesn’t answer; he only notches another arrow and lets it fly; it leaves a trail of icy mist in its wake. 

The creature screams. 

“Cub,” Twilight tries again. “Wild.” 

“I know,” Wild says sharply and then his shoulders drop with a reluctant sigh. “I know.” 

He lowers his bow, gaze following the spirit as it sinks into the spring, slinking along its edge, before he turns to Twilight. 

“Can you hang on?” 

“What?” Twilight says and then lets out a rather undignified squeak as he is bodily lifted into the air and slung over Wild’s shoulder, his grip on the flame sword finally giving out; Wild doesn’t seem to care much, glancing over his shoulder to the spirit where it has stopped moving - Twilight has no illusions that it’s been defeated; he can feel it watching them, a sick curiosity emanating from it, like a cat watching a bird with clipped wings - before he begins to trudge towards the rocky wall of the cavern. 

“Hylia, you’re heavy,” Wild grunts, adjusting his grip and Twilight slaps him upside the head as well as he can, wincing when his burnt hand protests. 

“ _ What are y’even doin’, Cub?”  _

“Getting us up on the ledge again,” Wild explains, voice strained. “Figured you wouldn’t be able to climb very well…” 

He doesn’t give Twilight a chance to respond; one arm wrapped firmly around Twilight’s legs, he returns his bow to his back and begins to climb, scrambling up the rock just as the water begins to tremble. Twilight watches in horror as the spring morphs, the tainted creature rising once more. In the dim light, he still cannot see definitive features; Wild’s flame sword lays discarded in the water, flickering dimly, so that Twilight can only see its warm glow reflecting off small portions of the spirit. 

Wild pulls them upwards; Twilight bites back a groan of pain when his arms are jostled, white dancing at the edges of his vision. The spirit screams somewhere below and the ringing in his ears only worsens his vision until he screws his eyes shut completely. 

He doesn’t know how, but somehow Wild manages the climb, dragging them both up and onto the ledge, his chest heaving as he unceremoniously deposits Twilight on the stoney ground; he doesn’t stay down for long, forcing himself to his feet and placing a hand on Twilight’s shoulder when he tries to follow.

“Stay,” Wild says, breathless; it’s almost like a command. Twilight raises an eyebrow and decides not to listen, pushing himself up with a grunt of pain and shuffling after Wild, coming to a stop behind where his protègè has perched himself on the edge of the ledge and is counting his arrows. Beneath them, the spring is dark once more, the light of the flame sword extinguished, but Twilight still feels the rumbling of the creature below.

In front of him, Wild curses quietly. 

“I only have so many,” he says when Twilight asks, holding up the delicate forms of the shock arrows, a soft yellow light emanating from their forms. 

“Do all your weapons glow?” Twilight asks offhandedly, crouching down. Wild huffs and Twilight gives him a small grin despite it all, though it fades quickly as the reality of the situation returns. “Make ‘em count, then,” he finally murmurs. Wild purses his lips. 

“My shots always count,” he replies stiffly, examining the arrows in his hand. “That doesn’t mean they’ll be enough.” 

He stands, notching an arrow regardless. 

“Stand back,” he says and Twilight obeys, eyes trained on the darkness below. 

Wild waits and then, with a deep breath, lets the arrow fly. It sails down into the dark, disappearing, and Twilight wonders for a moment if it even hit its target. 

It doesn’t take him long to realise it doesn’t matter; there’s a second of silence and then the entire spring is illuminated as arcs of electricity dance across its surface and up the writhing form of the light spirit and all is suddenly revealed; Twilight stifles a sound of pure disgust as he looks upon the mass of writhing forms below, the entirety of their corruption on display. 

The serpentine form of the Lanayru Light Spirit, once beautiful and elegant, is interrupted by what can only be described as a protrusion of other bodies, bursting forth in a mess of twisted limbs and open maws. A large arm scrambles in the dark water, twitching helpless in the current of Wild’s arrow, its long fingers spasming. Another arrow, another wave of electric light, and Twilight recognises wings, bent and breaking, flapping helplessly and flinging water and black blood into the air. 

“Oh goddess,” Wild whispers, drawing his bowstring back once again, eyes wide. 

“It’s…” Twilight chokes. “They’re… the other L-light Spirits.” He staggers forward, watching helplessly; memories spring to the surface, countless searches and treks, the cradling of light in the arms of a companion he refuses to dwell on. He blinks, startled to feel wetness on his cheeks. 

Below, the voices of Lanayru, Eldin, and Faron howl. 

It takes a long time. 

The thrill and adrenaline of battle ebs and then disappears completely, weak to begin with, and then it is just the two of them on the ledge, watching as Wild’s arrows land perfectly every time and send another wave of lightning through the amalgam of Light Spirits. Twilight feels guilt like stones upon his back, piling ever higher as he watches the destruction. Wild is a statue save for the methodic releasing of arrow after arrow, cold and calculating; only the shine of his eyes betrays his horror. 

It’s only when he shoots and then automatically reaches back, his hand coming up empty, that they both realize the last shock arrow has been released and they watch, breathes caged in their chests, as it flies. 

It sinks into the viscous flesh of its target and the screech that follows threatens to haunt Twilight for a long while. 

He doesn’t understand what happens next; there’s a crack, a world shattering cry, a brilliant and terrible strike of electricity, and then Twilight feels the cavern break; he feels himself reach with his working arm, feels it scream as it wraps around Wild, feels the great shuddering of the light spirits as they spew black blood and steam and sounds unlike any he has ever head. And then he feels himself falling like before, except instead of the icy wind of a mountain top, the stale air of caves and caverns rips past him; he falls, Wild beside him, and together they rush to meet the wall of black water rising and the wave of golden light that suddenly floods the world. 

It feels like slow motion, the turning of his head to see the crumpled form of three light spirits, weak and flickering, but free of corruption, and then the darkness that suddenly envelopes him. 

He doesn’t realize he’s losing consciousness until he can no longer feel Wild in his grasp. Instead, he can only feel the steady drumming of his own heart, reverberating through his body, loud in his ears. 

And there, beneath the pulsing of his life, he hears the choir of light and life, three voices leaving a feather light touch in the quickly fading remains of his awareness. 

_ Thank you.  _

  
  
  
  
  


And then Twilight wakes surrounded by lava.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone on tumblr who showered me with love while I was struggling with this one. Y'all make my day :>


End file.
